Nothing on a Silver Platter
by AlongTheBinding
Summary: AU! Tim and his dad move in with his dad's new girlfriend and her son, Jason.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

**AN: I came across an AU on Archive of our Own about Jack Drake marrying Catherine Todd and it was really great and awesome. I can't remember the title of it, but if you can find it, it is definitely worth the read. After I finished reading it, I wanted to read more like it, but couldn't find anything, so the wheels in my head started turning and suddenly I was writing my own based on a similar premise. This is an AU. I apologize if the characters are OOC. I'm trying my best to keep them as much in character as I can. Any advice or suggestions would be greatly appreciated. I'll post chapters as I finish them, but I write the chapters when inspiration strikes so updates might not be frequent.**

* * *

Jason Todd knew people like the Drakes. They were from the rich side of town. Father was head of some company. Kid went to a private school. Had five cars and a butler and big mansion. Money was spent without a thought on things that gathered dust for the rest of existence while the rest of the mucked-up town that Gotham was had to decide between a roof over their heads or a meal. Marx would have had a field day. They were stuck-up bastards who spent their time dressing up for social gatherings to show off who had the most.

"They lost something, too." His mom reminded him. It was one of her better days. Most days now seemed like one of her better days. And for that he was grateful. But this? He wasn't sure he could do this, not even for her.

She meant they lost the company. She meant they lost their billions upon billions of dollars. She meant they lost the flash and glam and lifestyles of the rich and famous. Drake Industries went under. They couldn't afford son's tuition. And, according to his mom, they were days away from losing their house. Well, boo-hoo. But if daddy dearest and his heir thought they'd mooch off him and his mother, they had another thing coming. He was not looking forward to two more mouths to feed.

"Jack lost his wife and Tim lost his mother." She laid a hand on his shoulder. He tried to ignore the slight shake to her boney fingers. She needed to eat more. Sleep more. "We know what that is like."

Except, no they didn't. Janet Drake was murdered on a trip with her husband in Haiti. It was all over the newspapers as well as the last fifteen minutes of fame the Drake family might ever see. Willis Todd was murdered during one of his stints out of prison by Two-Face. No one would know or remember him outside of the only two people who shared his last name. Janet Drake was loving mother and wife and business woman. Willis Todd was deadbeat father and a good for nothing husband and a criminal. There was a huge difference.

But then she met his eyes with her own, wide and pleading and, for once, coherent. She gave him the choice. All he had to say was 'no.' But she said she was happy, Jack made her happy. With a heavy sigh, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and figured he's survived worse.

* * *

Tim shrugs. He shrugs when they lost the company. He shrugs when he finds out they're moving. He shrugs when they sell off most of their belongings. He shrugs when they can't pay his tuition, when they have to let the house staff go, when they are going to lose the house. None of that matters much. He's been in and out of boarding schools since he was too old for a nanny. When he wasn't in school, he went to camp. When he visited home, it was normally just him, especially in recent years when he was old enough to take care of himself and the cleaning lady would come by once or twice a week at most. And in the scheme of things, material possessions felt trivial compared to other losses.

It isn't until he spots the woman and a teenager a few years older than him that the shrug turns into narrowed eyes. He looks to his father in confusion, but Jack Drake is grinning like a fool in the woman's direction. "Just a friend helping us out, Timbo," Jack laughs, hitting his shoulder like they are the best of pals. But Tim's not an idiot. He's the head of all his classes, with very little effort. He knows she's more than 'just a friend.

How soon? He wants to ask his dad. How soon after mom was gone did he go off to find someone new? He knew they had their arguments. He knew his parents weren't so happily married in the end, and there were many nights spent up late at the prospect of a divorce. He might not have been home much, seen them much, but it didn't take a genius to draw that conclusion, especially when they used him as an intermediary.

"Tell your mother to pass the salt."

"Tell your father it doesn't need any salt."

"Tell your mother it's too bland."

"Tell your father if he's unhappy with the meal he can hire the cook himself next time."

And so on.

They were sitting right across from each other, but then, he would take what he could get.

There are twenty different plans he can up with off the top of his head that does not involve moving in with his father's "friend" and her son who looks like he could beat him up with very little effort and looks like he wants to. Not that Tim can blame him. He thinks, not for the first time, perhaps the decision maker between the two of them should be him, despite what his dad says about being the kid.

But it's the first time since his mother's death, since they lost the company, that Jack is smiling. And it's not like he has much of a choice anyway.

His father gets out of the car. He greets the woman with a hearty hug and it takes a moment before he realizes what about that he finds so strange. When was the last time he's seen his father hug his mother like that? Had he ever hugged his mother like that?

* * *

Jason recognized Jack Drake from his picture in the papers. He didn't like the person who greeted them anymore than the man he saw in all those photos. His laugh was as cheesy and fake and grating on the nerves as the smile he flashed the reporters. When he stuck out his hand it wasn't until his mother jabbed him with her pointy elbow (she really needed to eat more) that he returned the gesture. "You must be Jason, my boy. Pleased to meet you. I've heard a lot of good things about you."

His lip curled back in a sneer, and, despite the look his mother was giving him, he really couldn't help it. "Wish I could say the same." His mother shot him a warning glare, but Jack seemed oblivious and that irritated him more.

The kid in the car stared at him and his mom in a daze. It took a few moments, a deep breath and shaking his head to clear it, for him to follow his father. It wasn't until he was in his peripheral vision that Jack even noticed him. "Timbo! Meet Catherine and Jason Todd."

Resigning himself to his fate, he stuck out his hand like the polite little rich boy he was, contrasting with the messy hair and 90's band shirt. "Ms. Todd, it's very nice to meet you. Thank you for letting us stay in your home." His glance keeps shifting between Jason and his mom.

"It's Catherine, sweetie. And we're happy to have you stay with us. Isn't that right, Jason?" His mom offered a smile, which was half-heartedly returned.

"Sure," Jason muttered. "Just peachy."

"Don't worry." Catherine mocked whispered to the kid. "His bark is worse than his bite."

Jason rolled his eyes and headed for the car to help with the suit cases. He figured it was a better idea to keep himself busy than give into the urge to punch a wall. They didn't have the money to fix a wall or his knuckles, especially with two more people living there. The kid apparently had a similar idea.

They didn't say a word to each other as they grabbed some bags and he followed Jason inside. They could hear their parents in the kitchenette, but neither cared to listen too closely. When they got to Jason's room, scratch that, what was once Jason's room and is now becoming lodgings for rich boys who lost everything, Tim stopped in the doorway. Bags still in hand, he sent an appraising look over the room.

Jason turned around to stare at him. He huffed and folded his arms. "I know it's not much," there was an edge to his tone but it didn't faze Tim, who kept eyeing his shelves and posters.

Tim probably should have been paying more attention, but he supposed some lapses of attention and focus was to be expected. He tore his eyes from the stack of library books and old CDs and blinked at the older teen. "Huh?"

"I said, probably a lot smaller than you're used to."

Tim shrugged. He was starting to think he was developing a bad habit. "Not really." He let his bag fall to the floor. "It's about the size of the dorm rooms." But he doesn't step further into the room because it's not his room. It's Jason's. And he doesn't really know Jason. It's not that he minds having a roommate. He's had one or more for as long as he's been going to school and camp, but this isn't boarding school or summer camp. There's no coming home to a big empty house for a week or two or those rare moments when they'd sit down for a family dinner. There's no family dinners anymore.

His throat constricts and Tim hastily excuses himself to bring in more boxes, declining any help. Once he's back outside and alone, he takes a few deep breaths of Gotham's muggy air. The neighborhood isn't the best. The apartment is small. And there are thirty better plans he can come up with for dealing with losing their home, none of which includes moving in with the Todd's, if only his father would pay attention.

* * *

Feet padding on the floor and the click of the door startles Jason from his sleep. He sits up in bed listening to the footsteps down the hall, the cry of the old floors under the weight. And his heart thrums in his ears. Because this all too familiar. All he can think as he tosses his warm blankets aside and tiptoes on the icy floor is she was doing so well. Too well, he thinks bitterly. He should have recognized something was up. It must had been the stress of moving the Drakes in. The stress when she finally realized he can barely support the two of them let alone two more people. It must have been the stress he added to the situation. His fists ball as he makes his way down the hallway, to the flickering light of the television.

He peers in from the doorframe and releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Curled up in front of the T.V., under the blankets he only just realizes were missing from his floor, is the kid. He glances back down the hallways where Jack Drake's snoring fills the whole apartment. He adds it to the list of reasons to hate the guy.

Anger boils below the surface because he scared him. He takes a step forward to really lay into the kid, but stops when he notices the tears trailing his face. He's staring at the T.V, but Jason doubts he's actually watching it. He watches the kid for a minute or two before withdrawing back to his room.

"Whatever," he mutters to himself as he climbs back into bed. He's got work tomorrow and can't afford to be sleeping on the job. Welcome to the real world, he thinks as he drifts back to sleep, where nothing is handed to you on a silver platter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**AN: Any suggestions or tips are greatly appreciated! Thanks to all who have viewed, reviewed, favorited, and followed! :)**

* * *

Dinners were always small, just the three of them. Tim and his mom and his dad. Sometimes Tim can remember the sounds of the kitchen staff. Hushed whispers drowned out by clinking pots and running water and the scraping of their silverware. It was mostly quiet, silence, words left unsaid. But they were far and few between and Tim cherished every minute of them.

Now, though, his stomach clenches as Catherine stands before a stove he's sure he's seen in an antique store. The burners don't light without matches and despite their assurances, he not convinced it should smell like that. Jason hovers, trying to convince her he can stir the store brand macaroni and cheese and that she can relax, but she playfully bats his hand away from the wooden spoon.

He likes to watch them. Jason always glares and snaps at him when he catches him staring, but he's never seen anything like the two of them. He didn't think families could actually be like that outside of old sitcoms on television or works of fiction. They tease each other and playfully banter. He'll kiss her cheek and she puts a hand on his shoulder, but it's not like when Jack slaps him on the back.

And in a strange way it makes him miss his mother more. He remembers when she was proud of him, she would smooth down his hair. He remembers when she missed him or he did something she thought was endearing or amusing she would flash him a smile. Strange because it was not exactly the same, but it was the closest they got to each other.

"Take a picture. It will last longer." Jason startles him out of his memories.

Catherine shoves a steaming bowl of macaroni in his hands. "Be nice." She warns him.

"I'll eat at work." Jason declines and hands it back to her. She hands it to Jack, fills another, and hands it to Tim. Jason makes her take one for herself.

Every meal since they've been there, Jason declines the food and makes an excuse. He's going out with some friends. He'll grab something at work. Etc.

"Is this all we're having?" Jack is used to three course meals. He's used to a salad and/or soup to begin. Then some sort of meat or fish and veggie with a side dish followed by desert. Tim colors in embarrassment.

Its Jason's glare that makes Tim actually take a quarter of a forkful, rather than just play with it until it gets cold. "Yes," he says between clenched teeth. "This is dinner. If you want something more go to the store, pay for it yourself with your own money and feel free to use the kitchen."

"Jason, that is uncalled for." Catherine puts her bowl down and her hands on her hips.

Jack snorts. "This isn't dinner, boy. This is a side dish." If Tim turned anymore red, he would be mistaken for a stop sign. He feels the need to apologize for his father, but his throat is too dry and he can't find his words.

A low growl tears from Jason's throat with a sneer. His fists flex open and closed and he's doing his best to control his breathing, but he's seconds away from sending Jack's bowl flying into his face. But that would be a waste of a perfectly good meal and a perfectly decent bowl. "I'm late for work." He kisses his mother on the cheek. "Don't wait up and don't save me any."

"We'll talk about this later." Catherine promises, finger pointed in his direction.

Jason rolls his eyes. "Looking forward to it." He calls as the door slams behind him.

"That boy," Catherine mutters sitting down on the other side of Tim. There's a fondness to her voice, though. Tim wonders if she could actually be angry at him. He wonders if his mother was ever that fond of him.

The picture is all too familiar. But there's a stranger where his mother should be and they're in the wrong dining room. With that thought he can barely keep his quarter of a forkful down.

Catherine tries to fill the silence. Tries to talk where there should be quiet and things left unsaid and Tim, already feeling sick to his stomach, doesn't know what to do with that. Jack jumps right in with his obnoxious laugh. Everything's a blur.

"Tim, sweetie, you okay?" He feels a hand on his shoulder and he blinks up at her. "You look a little pale."

He shakes his head, his stomach doing flips. "Not hungry." He murmurs. "Sorry."

She offers him a smile, but somehow it makes him feel worse. "Don't worry about it. Why don't you go lie down?"

He nods, grateful for the escape.

* * *

Jason walks through the door at some ungodly hour, careful to keep the lock from clicking too loudly and avoiding all spots on the floor that protest underfoot. He drags his feet and a yawn accompanies every footstep. These late nights will be the death of him, he's sure. But they're better off for it. They're in a better place than they have been in a long time.

The hunger isn't helping much. He contemplates actually taking his mother up on a bowl next time, but they had barely enough for the four of them. And, really, his mother needs to eat more.

By now, he's not surprised to find the television turned on low, with the kid curled up on the couch in the flashing light. He bites back some comment about electricity bills and decides to save it for when the bills actually arrive. He turns away from the tear stained face and makes his way to the kitchen for a drink of water.

He shivers and grimaces at the opening of the fridge and by now should not be so surprised to see leftovers with a note that Tim or Jason should help themselves. It took the third time of finding a similar note and watching the kid at breakfast to figure out Tim hasn't been eating. Not that he cares so long as he isn't wasting food. But it is frustrating that no matter what he says, he still can't lie to his mom and his mom will not eat more.

Giving into his growling stomach, he reluctantly heats himself up a bowl, scarves it down leaning against the sink, and decides to do his dishes in the morning in case the sound wakes his mom. Tiredly, he trudges his way to his room, stopping only once more to check on her. It's habit.

She's dead to the world, curled up against Jack, who has an arm over her like a teddy bear. He feels the anger rise again and decides to turn away before he acts on it. It wasn't so long ago he came home and would tuck her into bed, making sure she had enough blankets, she was warm enough. He supposes he should be grateful he doesn't need to worry about that anymore, but it would put him at ease if the man was not Jack Drake.

Once in his room, he collapses in his bed and is out by the time his head hits the pillow, still in his clothes from the day, and blankets still shoved aside.

* * *

Breakfast the next morning; Jack is snoring down the hall. It is just the three of them. Tim, with dark circles under his half-lidded eyes, downs his cup of coffee as he absently plays with his cereal.

"Aren't you a bit young to be drinking coffee?" Catherine worries. Jason has less an issue with his age and more an issue with the fact there will be less for himself. And as he is the one who is currently working to maintain the basic necessities and keep them off the streets, he feels he has every right to claim it as his own.

Tim shrugs. "I've always had coffee." Catherine lets it go, but Jason doesn't.

He snatches the cup away from him, much to Tim's protest. "Save some for me. I have work today." They have a glaring contest until Catherine returns the much coveted caffeine to Tim.

"I'm sure there's plenty to share." Except, no, no there isn't. But she has no reason to know that and Jason will work his hardest to keep it that way. "And have some more cereal. You don't eat enough." She pours some more into his bowl.

"You're one to talk." He says around a spoonful. "Save some for yourself."

"I'll have a little." She promises.

"You should have more than a little." He tries to switch bowls, but she won't let him.

"Let me take care of you," she begs. "Please, Jay. I don't get many opportunities to. Let me be your mom this morning." And her big eyes get wet and he can't stand to see her cry, so he agrees. He lets her pamper him and as he finishes off a bigger than usual bowl of cereal, he pushes down the guilt over eating more than her twisting in the pit of his stomach and tries to ignore the worry of maybe not having enough cereal tomorrow. But if it makes her feel better, he'll take it.

It's not until he feels eyes boring into him that he remembers there's another person in the room, staring again. "Jesus Christ, kid, blink for once would you?" He snaps at Tim. "Quit staring! There's nothing to see and stop wasting our food!"

* * *

By the time Jack graces them with his presence, he eats more than the three of them combined, grouching about the food. Tim once more flushes in embarrassment and Catherine sends Jason a pleading look to not engage. It's then that Catherine brings up school and that perhaps they should start looking into it for Tim. Jack makes no acknowledgements, more concerned with the lack of pancakes or Eggs Benedict.

"I took care of it." Tim informs them, offering his bowl to his father who greedily accepts without blinking an eye. "I called Friday. I just need to fill out some paperwork, meet with the principal, and I'm all set. I should probably get going soon."

"We should go with you." Catherine insists, shooting a frown at Tim's father.

Tim shakes his head and stands. "Thanks, but it's unnecessary. As I said, it's all taken care of."

"Then at least let Jason take you." Both Jason and Tim look ready to protest. "It's not the best neighborhood to be walking alone in and it's bad enough Jason does. It would make me feel a lot better." Tim's head tilts to the side in confusion. "And while you're there, maybe you could look into signing yourself back up, too, Jason."

Jason frowns. This has been a battle for them since she started doing well, again. He wanted to argue, but he didn't want to do it in front of the Drakes. "Maybe. We'll see." He mumbles.

"But I can walk myself. It's not that far." Tim blinks at her.

"Then it shouldn't be a problem." Catherine pecks her son on the cheek and waves bye before Tim can say anything else. He stands there for a moment, unsure, and Jason rolls his eyes , grabs his wrist, and drags him out the door.

* * *

Tim knows the streets. For all he was away, he knows Gotham like the back of his hand. "You could blindfold me and I could find my way." He mutters confounded at the very idea he might need an escort to something as simple as school. Jason is tempted to take him up on that challenge. But Gotham is his home more than the big empty mansion he lost. The gargoyles are more of a family, then his lost mother and oblivious, absent-while-there father. He doesn't say this to Jason, because how could Jason understand? Jason has Catherine in a way Tim never had Janet. Her plea from breakfast still rings in his ears. Had Janet ever felt that way about him?

"For some reason, she cares about you, kid." Jason replies gruffly, hands shoved in pockets, eyes always weaving throughout streets and alleys. She likes to be a mom when she can, he doesn't say.

Tim shrugs. "Yeah, but, I've been walking alone in Gotham at night since I was six. Surely I could handle something as simple as to school during the day."

Jason frowns at him because no kid Tim's age should be running around a place like Gotham at night, and most especially not a six year old. His eyes narrow. "Why?"

Tim kicks a rock. "Taking pictures."

And as odd as that answer is, he doesn't press it. He just wants to get this over and done with. And at this rate he'll be late for work and catch hell for it from his boss. "Let's just make this quick." And they do. Jason leads him to the all too familiar school and stops at the fence as Tim keeps walking. He shoots him a wave before he enters the school and Jason can't flee quick enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**AN: Special thanks to guest reviewer, Aye! They mentioned a bit more about the fanfiction that inspired this one and it helped me find it again! It's called "The second time is not the charm" by ariadne83 and somehowunbroken on Archive Of Our Own! It is definitely worth the read and phenomenal and I cannot say enough about it! Also, thanks to all who have reviewed, viewed, followed, and favorites!**

* * *

Jack is lounged back, blasting some boring documentary that you can hear from the other side of the apartment complex. It makes Jason's teeth gnash, especially because the couple right below them has a new baby and even they have some consideration for their neighbors. Jason scrunches his nose at the monotonous descriptions of some ancient civilization and chugs some milk from the carton just to get that sideways glare from his mom and he smiles cheekily at her. Even the little things that bug her, he appreciates. Because that glare, while also amusing, means she's aware in a way that's fairly new to him. And it gives her plenty of opportunities to feel like the mother she always wanted to be.

Tim seems to appear out of nowhere, peering into the doorway of the living room, watching his father. Somehow the kid is like a freaking ninja when he wants to be. Jason just wonders why he can't have that same decency at two in the morning after one of his nightmares instead of constantly waking him up.

Now, though, carton forgotten in his hand, he watches closely. After what appears to be much internal debate, the kid tip toes into the room, careful not to make a sound. Jason is sure if he did, though, Jack wouldn't notice. He slowly sits on the opposite end of the couch, eyes glued to his father. Every few seconds or so, he inches his way closer, Jack still engrossed in his program. He stops and sits ramrod straight when he's close enough for the sleeves of their shirts to touch and Jason wonders if the kid realizes he's holding a breath.

After a few more minutes, when some commercials start playing, he allows some of the tension to release and dares to relax a bit against his father's arm. "Timbo!" His father exclaims, awoken from his trance. And Jason lets out a breathy chuckle of disbelief.

"Is he on something?" Jason looks to his mother who seems confounded and fascinated in the same scene.

She hits his arm lightly. "Jason." She gasps scandalized.

"What?" He can't help the smile. Because again, amusing and a good sign. "He just doesn't seem like he's all there." Once it's out of his mouth he cringes, but not as hard as his mother. And suddenly he feels bad because he shouldn't have brought it up. "Sorry." He mutters. And he means it. He really does.

She shrugs it off and offers a weak smile. It's guilty, too, and that makes him feel worse because he knows how hard she's trying. And as much as she is trying, so is he. "It can't be easy, you know, to have the whole world on a silver platter and lose it all. It's a lot of adjusting."

He's not buying it. And at least, when she was at her worst, she had an excuse. Jack's seems like nothing compared to hers. And no kid acts that way, so cautious to just be with their parents without given reason to in the past. And, even at her worst, he never felt that way snuggling up with her.

"Hey, dad." Tim whispers, his mouth twitching upward in an attempt at a smile. He still looks hesitant and uncomfortable leaning against his father like that, like he's afraid to move. The show starts up again and Jack's attention is back to the screen. Tim's half smile, if you could call it that, falters slightly. "You went there, didn't you?"

Jack doesn't answer.

"To Egypt?"

Again nothing. The British accent of some archaeologist fills the whole of the apartment complex as he waits with bated breath for an answer, any answer, just some acknowledgement, anything.

"Right, dad?" He tries again.

"Huh? What's that?" Jack's eyes never leave the screen in the same way Tim's eyes never leave his father.

"Nothing." Tim mumbles and squirms closer into his father's arm.

* * *

Jason has commandeered the table for his own, scattering the contents of numerous envelopes, which left Tim either the nest of blankets he was using as a bed on Jason's bedroom floor or in front of the television to do his homework and study. The latter seemed like the better of the two. He set up shop right next to his father's feet, welcoming the latest archeological documentary as background noise. Occasionally, he would rest his cheek on Jack's knee as he studied his textbook and notes, taking his sweet time to complete each and every assignment.

After finishing a little more than half his homework, he heads to the kitchen for a glass of water and a chance to stretch his legs. As he downs his glass, he sees Jason heavily concentrating on the papers and Catherine trying to read over his shoulder. He covers the papers with his arm, the way one would protect a test from a neighbor trying to cheat.

"How bad is it?" Catherine frets, trying once more to get a peek.

"Don't worry about it, mom." Jason tells her absently with a pencil between his teeth. The line sounds well rehearsed.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Maybe I should look into getting a job, again." This earns her son's full attention.

He stares at her, pencil dropping from his mouth and rolling lazily over the documents. Sighing, he shakes his head. "We've been over this, mom." And that's been his answer for a lot lately. Why he isn't signing up for school. Why he's handling the money.

"Maybe I'm ready. I've been doing well, Jace." Her eyes are wide and pleading and it reminds Tim of when she begged Jason to let her act like his mom for once at breakfast.

His eyes return to the table. End of discussion. "Just focus on staying that way. I've got this. Don't worry about it." Disheartened and disappointed, she stands up. Her face colors pink when she sees Tim leaning against the sink with half a cup in hand.

"Is your homework finished?" She asks him.

Jason looks up with an arched eyebrow, until he sees Tim. Then he snorts and returns to his work.

"Uh." Tim doesn't know what to do with that question. He can't remember the last time someone asked him that. He doesn't think anyone has ever asked him that. "No," he stutters around another sip of water. "I'm almost done."

She gives a curt nod; shoots an exasperatedly and guilty look at her son; and turns to leave.

Tim watches Jason for a few more minutes before curiosity gets the best of him and he inches his way closer. Jason is so focused on his task, he barely notices Tim slip into the chair next to him, take a paper and study it closely.

Bills. He puts it down and glances over at Jason's half chewed pencil and abused calculator. "Why won't you let her help?"

"She doesn't need the added stress." Jason answers distractedly. It takes another minute before he registers Tim beside him. He tears the bill out of Tim's hand and snarls for him to mind his own business.

"I'm living here, too. And according to this bill," Tim reaches over and snatches another piece of paper, "It's my dad and I who have made your electricity and hot water bill go up since last month. Kind of makes it my business. And," he steals Jason's calculator and starts crunching numbers. "I can help. I am kind of a genius." He says it the way someone would say the sky is blue.

Jason runs a tired hand through his hair. "Just don't screw anything up."

* * *

The bills go twice as quick as they normally do and they can barely skate by for another month, thanks to yet another phone call to ensure they can work out a deal to keep the hot water on so his mother will be none the wiser. He makes the kid swear to not reveal to her just how financially screwed they are.

The kid ventures cautiously into why Jason refuses to be more supportive of his mother working and Jason reiterates that she doesn't need the stress. He doesn't mention that while he loves her to pieces, he doesn't trust her with the money. And if she were to be entirely truthful with herself, if her judgment was not clouded by her guilt and remorse at the moment, she doesn't trust herself either.

"I'm scared, Jason." She told him when she was just starting to do better, curled up on the couch, tears streaming down her face.

He had covered her in a blanket, held her hand and muttered words of encouragement. "You can do this, mom. I know you can." All the while thinking, I'm scared, too. But somebody needed to be strong.

"And your dad doesn't do anything but sit on his butt all day." Jason snaps.

And Tim can't say anything in defense to that because Jason's not wrong. Tim glances over to his father, once more engrossed in yet another documentary and his own half finished homework. He figures he can finish it before school tomorrow and heads out the front door, searching for a newspaper.

* * *

Homework still half finished, Tim slams the help-wanted pages onto the now clear dining room table, rattling his father's bowl of cereal and mug of coffee.

"Timothy Jackson." He admonishes when some of the milk and coffee splashes on one of his books and hastily works to wipe it up.

Tim wets his lips, hesitating because he has a feeling he knows how this will go, but he has to at least try. "Dad." Jack mutters about Tim's carelessness and lack of consideration and the now ruined pages. "Dad!"

"What?" Jack grouches, distracted.

There's the sound of the shower and some creaks of a bed from someone tossing and turning. He'd guess the former is Catherine and the latter is Jason, given his late night after the bills. He's glad he's got his father alone. Now if only he could get his attention.

Tim grabs his father's book, much to Jack's protest, and shoves the newspaper right under his nose. But his father pushes the paper away and reaches for his book. "Careful! You've already done enough damage to it!"

"Would you just take a look at the newspaper?" Tim begs. "Please, dad."

Sighing, Jack gives it a cursory glance. "What about it?"

Tim folds his arm. He's putting his foot down on this issue. "We've been here long enough to get settled, dad." He levels his father with a significant look. "It's about time we start pulling our own weight. Look," he goes to his father's side, leaning over so their shoulders brush, and points to one of the ads circled in red. "They're looking for tour guides at the natural history museum. You'd be a shoe in for that job. Or," he points to another, "the local community college could use another professor. You could give lectures or…"

"Timothy." Tim knows that tone of voice all too well, especially in recent years. He's just been dismissed. Jack pushes the paper to the side, jerks away from the close proximately of his son, grabs his book, and stomps out of the room.

"Just, just consider it." Tim calls after him. They both know he won't. Tim sinks down to his seat with a groan, tugging at his hair until it starts to hurt, and staring at the paper he had to go two blocks to find. He knows as well as Jason that there's a very good chance they won't be able to keep the hot water next month. And he's smart enough to know if they couldn't even afford all the bills this month, and Jason had yet to pay the rent, they won't make rent for the month either. Well, he decides, as the frustration builds, if his father won't do anything, he will.

More determined now than ever, he balls his fists and throws Jason's bedroom door open. The heap of blankets groans and turns over and the socked foot sticking out twitches unhappily. Tim tears through his boxes, tossing all items every which way. "Where is it," he mutters. "It's got to be here somewhere."

"What are you doing?" Jason slurs bleary eyed and furious.

"Nothing," Tim murmurs. "Ah-ha!" He holds up his camera at last in victory and heads for the front door. "Go back to sleep, Jason."

Jason collapses back into his pillow, muttering about spoiled rich brats as he drifts back off to sleep.

* * *

"What happened to your face?" Jason asks as Tim walks into the kitchen, bag slung over his shoulder, and sporting a black eye and a bloody nose.

"What's wrong with yours?" Tim bites back, dropping his bag at the doorway and jumping onto the counter. Because Tim is messy. Not that Jason would describe himself as particularly neat, but he'd really like to know how he managed to make Jason's room look like a tornado flew through just looking for his camera in his boxes.

Catherine gives a long suffering sigh, as she is the mother of one Jason Todd. To which, Jason smirks and rolls his eyes. It is very amusing, especially to not be on the receiving side.

Jack has his nose in the same ancient archeology book, the corners of a few pages dyed brown, and doesn't look up until Catherine hits his arm. He frowns at his son, studying his face for a moment like it's one of the prized artifacts he had to sell. "Huh."

Jason snorts.

"How'd you manage that?" Jack asks and Tim just sort of stands there, not sure what to do or make of the attention, as his father prods his eye.

His eyes dart from Jason, a fretting Catherine, and back to his father. "Football tryouts." If he wasn't staring intently at his father, and if Jason didn't already peg him as a giant nerd from snooping through his things, he might've bought the lie. But Jack's eyes light up as he finishes his examination and grabs a bag of peas from the freezer, earning the start of a smile from Tim.

Jason arches an eyebrow. "Football?"

Tim soaks up the attention like a sponge and nods as his father starts babbling about the sport. "How nice for the coach to let you try out!" The first grin Jason has seen the kid wear wanes.

"Yeah," Jason derides. "Especially with how small you are. Must have really took pity on you."

The kid's frown deepens, but before he can retort, Jack playfully socks him in the ribs, laughing. "Bet you gave them a run for their money, eh, slugger? Showed them the ol' Drake guts and glory?"

"Sure, dad."

"I'm sure you did great." Catherine offers, but her smile doesn't quite meet her eyes. She puts a hand on Jason's shoulder and squeezes. Not for the first time, he wonders why every moment seems to be one of melancholy for the two of them. Everything is a missed opportunity. Her hand is heavy with apologies. He puts his own over hers and squeezes back, reminding her to live in the moment, begging her to not slip back into the past.

"Turn anymore red and you'll turn into a tomato." Jason laughs and Tim ducks his head, glaring out from some wisps of stray hair. He knows he's being a little merciless with the teasing at the moment, especially given the whole rearranged face, but he's not fond of rich brats, especially suspicious rich brats who lie. He and his mom have had enough trouble without adding a troubled teen into the mix. No, he thinks, his taunting smirk melting into a frown of his own, one troubled teen is enough. And he gives his mom's hand another squeeze, guilt dulling the fun in teasing the kid.

* * *

Tim ducks his head.

"Its two in the morning, kid. Just tell me what's wrong. Monsters in the closet. Did the boogie man scare you?"

He glares, but it's not nearly as threatening with red, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. "It's nothing. Forget about it."

Jason returns the glare and it's much more affective. "You've been waking me up at two in the morning for three weeks now."

"Why do you care?" Tim mumbles.

"I don't. But call me crazy, I need to sleep at some point and it doesn't look like I'll get to until whatever this is," he gestures vaguely, "is fixed. So spit it out because I'm tired and I've got work tomorrow and I'm losing my patience and if you wind up waking my mom I'll be pissed."

Tim frowns. "I woke your mom?" He likes Catherine. She seems very nice and the last thing he wants is to make her life more difficult. His father's doing that enough for the both of them.

Jason groans and rubbs a hand over his face, teeth grinding. "No, but keep it up and you might. Spit it out already, would you?" Tim remains silent. "Fine, whatever. Don't tell. Just go back to sleep then and quit waking me up."

"I can't." He whispers.

"Can't what?" Jason demands exasperated.

Tim bites his lip. "Can't sleep."

"Why?"

"I keep seeing it, again."

"What? Seeing what?"

"They fall. But it isn't them this time. It's mom and it's just like what happened, but it's her instead. And I'm sitting in the audience and I'm three and I can't get to her. I can't do anything."

Jason stares at him before plopping down in the nest Tim made for himself on the couch. "What? Like a nightmare?"

"Yeah," he admits quietly, blushing, fiddling with the edge of the fraying blanket. He wants to tell him the blanket it frayed enough and they can't afford a new one and to take out his neurosis on something more durable, but the kid starts talking hesitantly. "I went to the circus when I was three."

"Whoop-de-doo for you, kid." Jason sits back wondering why he's the one sitting with the kid, listening to a bedtime story, when he has a father not even a room away. As Tim rattles on about some trapeze artists or something or other, he notes, not for the first time, just how oblivious Jack Drake is when it comes to his son. Even Catherine sees the lack of sleep, the lack of food, that his favorite pass times are a tossup between photography and skateboarding and superheroes and do not involve sports.

"And then they fell to their deaths…" snaps him back to Tim's story. "I had nightmares for a while after that. They only started up again recently. But it's different this time. Because she's the one who falls from the trapeze, not them."

They're quiet, allowing the inane hum of some late night show to drown out any unwanted thoughts. "Well, that sucks." Jason responds after what feels like forever in the awkward silence and Tim sort of snorts, scrubbing his eyes and nose with his sleeve and wincing when he rubs too hard on the bruises.

Then Tim stares at him in the most disconcerting way, like he's trying to make sense of some puzzle that just occurred to him. But if he thought this would turn into sharing time, he is mistaken. The kid might be fine spilling his guts to some stranger that happens to be sharing the same roof, but Jason did not sign up for this. He did not agree to this when he gave his mom the okay. Just as he's about to snap at him, Tim asks, "Where do you work?"

"None of your business." The kid's eyes narrow. And, yeah, he probably should not have answered quite so defensively if he didn't want to appear suspicious, but he can't help it. "What's it to you, anyway?"

"Nothing." Tim says nonchalantly, but he's looking all the more determined for those answers. "You just have odd hours. Your schedule fluctuates a lot."

"Nothing odd about it. Lots of people have fluctuating schedules. Especially around here." He fixes him with a glare, hoping the kid would drop it.

"Sure." Tim concedes. "Except it is odd for a kid as young as you."

"I'm older than you." It comes out as much a threat as an argument.

It doesn't faze Tim. "Yeah, but still. There aren't many people who would hire a kid like you."

You don't know the half of it, Jason thinks. "What's that mean?"

"Most people look to hire someone a little older. There aren't many, if any, jobs for someone your age. At least," and there is too much interest for Jason's liking behind that tone, "none that would help pay for groceries or bills."

"What's with the interrogation?" Jason's on his feet and looming over the kid, fists balled on his side, tempted to give him another black eye to match the first one. "It's none of your business." He growls and stomps back to his room, whisper-shouting over his shoulder, "Sleep, don't sleep. I don't care. Just don't keep waking me up."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own.**

**AN: Thanks for all the reviews, views, follows, and favorites! :) Apparently, I like to hurt Timmy... and I must have been writing on a empty stomach for these last couple of chapters. Next chapter I'm hoping to have a little more action and a little less food. Perhaps, I should spare Timmy some of the pain and let Jason share? Anyway, I hope you are still enjoying!**

* * *

Catherine stands in the open doorway of their apartment, fiddling with her purse. She's wearing her good heels, which Jason knows is an attempt to feel good. He doesn't quite understand how a pair of shoes can manage to help, but he's not going to question it. "Maybe I shouldn't go." She casts a worried look at Jack in front of the television and Tim, by his feet, doing his homework.

"Doesn't work that way." Jason reminds her, pulling on his own shoes. "The meetings help. You said so yourself." The sneakers at this point are held together by nothing more than sheer luck. He's just glad his mother is more distracted by the guy in the next room so they don't get into another argument about why he's allowed to give her new heels for mother's day, but can't spare enough money for shoes of his own. "We'll be fine." He follows her line of vision to the next room over. "It's only an hour or two at the most. What could go wrong?"

She smiles. "Poor choice of words." It used to be a joke between the two of them. The few times on a good day, when they managed to have some extra cash, they'd go to the cheap $5 Tuesday movies. And every time a character would jinx the situation, they'd laugh and swear to remind each other to never do it in real life.

Jason chuckles. And it 's good, really good. It's moments like this he can really see she's doing better. Where everything feels better. Then her smiles wanes, and he squeezes her shoulder. "We'll be fine. I doubt the crowned prince will leave his throne, if he even notices."

She grimaces. "He has a name, you know."

Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. "I know, mom." And somehow he always manages to find a way to kill the moment. He curses himself, reminding himself he needs to do better, too. "Come on. You're going to be late."

"Don't forget your jacket, sweetie." She pecks his cheek and heads out into the hallway.

He heads to the kitchen to grab his coat. "Where are you going?" He jumps at the voice and spins around.

"Christ, kid, give me a heart attack why don't you?" He glares, trying to calm his heart.

"You're coming back, right?"

Jason stares at him like he's an idiot. "Of course we're coming back." He grabs his jacket and slams the door behind him.

Tim looks from his dad, oblivious in front of the television, to the stove in the kitchen.

* * *

When he walks back into the house, he's greeted by a small fire, charcoaled eggs and flour and various ingredients he doesn't even want to attempt to identify painting the kitchen. And in the center of the mess, trying in vain to put out the fire, control the smoking oven, and not slip in the midst of the chaos is none other than Tim. He gapes for a moment before all of his anger washes over him. "What have you done?" He shouts.

Tim turns with a start, slips on some sort of thick sauce, and falls into the counter. "Uh…" Picking himself up with a wince, he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "Hey, Jason. Little help?"

Jason rolls up his sleeve, pushes Tim aside, cursing whatever viscous substance he just stepped in, and promptly douses the fire with endless cups of water. He makes sure to berate the kid fully. It's taking a great deal of self control to not lash out, so he packs his words with all the extra punch he wishes he could give. The kid starts flinching around the second sentence of diatribe that flies out of his mouth.

By the time he's finished with the fire, he decides the oven will not burst into flames as well anytime soon and it's best to simply air it out for the time being. "I swear, kid, once I'm finished with this, I will wipe the floor with your face." He tears some towels out of the drawer below the sink and slams it closed and fishes the mop out of the closet.

Tim holds his hands up innocently. "I just wanted to help."

"Then help clean this up." Jason growls. He grabs some sponges and throws them in Tim's face. Tim, apologizing profusely, enough to warrant the need for more self restraint from Jason, instantly sets to work.

"And all this food you wasted." Jason hisses. "Money might just grow on trees where you are from, but I worked hard for everything in this kitchen. Do you have any idea how much this has set us back? We don't even have enough money to make rent, let alone an unplanned trip to the grocery store, birdbrain!"

By the time Jason has to pick up his mom, they are little more than halfway done scrubbing the kitchen. Jason leaves Tim to take care of the rest with the explicit instructions that it is to be fully scrubbed clean, the counters are to sparkle, he is to see himself in the kitchen tiles, and to do something about the smell all before Catherine walks through the door.

And he almost does, thanks to an extra stop Jason makes along the way for some cheap fast food.

* * *

"Timothy Jackson Drake!" Catherine stands in the doorway of the kitchen, hands on her hips. With no sympathy what so ever, Jason snickers and shimmies by her to dump the greasy bags of chili dogs she insisted Jason get for himself, because if she gets heels for mothers day he at the very least deserves his favorite food, and burgers for everyone else on the table. Tim flinches at her raised voice, blanching. But flinching at Catherine is like flinching at a daisy bud.

At least, Jason amends, shuddering as he recalls some of her worse moments, it is now. But even at her absolute worst, when it got really bad, she'd never raise a hand to him, let alone a kid who is still a stranger. And Jason doubts daddy dearest pays nearly enough attention to the kid to ever lay a hand on him, good or bad.

"Sorry," he sputters, hurrying to finish the last few spots. "I didn't…"

"What did you do to your hand?" She demands.

"Huh?" Both boys look at her in shock.

Tim glances down and sees a burn across the palm in angry red, starting to blister, and irritated by the cleaning solutions. She walks over to him, her heels clicking on the squeaky-clean tiles and carefully takes his hand to examine the damage.

"It's just a burn." Tim dismisses, pulling his hand out of hers, a little shocked she's more concerned with his hand then the previous state of her kitchen.

She gives him a look only a mother could give. "Come on." She leads him to the table and makes him sit. Jason watches like it's an amusing television show, munching on fries. Tim reddens under all the attention and is starting to get why Jason always snaps at him when he stares. Catherine, ignoring the remaining mess, grabs the first aid kit from under the sink and tells him to stop fidgeting.

"You don't have to." Tim tells her, but feels obligated to let her, especially after ruining her kitchen. She likes to do this type of thing and Jason doesn't let her do it often. "I've burned my hand before."

She clicks her tongue in disapproval. "Well, now you don't have to handle it alone." When she's like this she reminds Tim of his mother and how she wouldn't take no for an answer, either. He thinks it must be a maternal thing. But there's more to her statement and he gets the feeling it is not him she's upset with. He stiffens with defenses on the tip of his tongue. "What were you doing to burn your hand?"

Tim turns his gaze to Jason. His head turns to the side like a puppy. Jason merely raises an eyebrow back. And it takes a moment for Tim to put the pieces together. He didn't tell her. And of course, he thinks, it should have been obvious that he wouldn't. But she must have seen the mess, he thinks. It's nowhere near as bad, but he's sure Jason will make him pay for not having everything cleaned up as instructed, more like demanded. Jason doesn't speak for him and Tim's not entirely sure why, but he guesses he's just as curious. "I just wanted to make some Eggs Benedict." He tells her quietly, face flushing more.

Her face softens and he ducks his head. "Oh, Tim." She pauses her playing doctor and pulls him into a hug. Tim stiffens in her arms and looks toward Jason for answers, but all he gets in return is careful chewing and an equally confused look.

"Egg Benedict?" Everyone turns to the doorway to find Jack Drake, frowning. Neither Jason nor Catherine miss the way Tim's eyes light up and the way he sits a bit straighter. "You can't have Eggs Benedict for dinner. Don't be ridiculous, Tim. It's a breakfast." He snorts and sits down beside Jason. Neither miss the way Tim's shoulders slump and how he suddenly looks more like a puppy that's been kicked.

Catherine's arms around Tim tighten. "Jack." Her tone is clipped and a look of pain crosses Tim's face as he pulls away.

"I've got homework to finish." He murmurs and pushes himself up.

"You need to eat, Tim." Catherine tells him, pointing to the food, but her eyes never leave Jack.

"I'm not hungry." And he flees the room.

Jason rolls his eyes and stuffs some more fries in his mouth. "He could've at least finished cleaning his mess." But Catherine and Jack are too busy shifting from the silent stare off and attempts at telepathic communication to quiet arguing. "Fine," he huffs and grabs the rag. Better him than leaving it for his mom.

* * *

When Jack dares to raise his voice to Catherine, Jason steps in front of her protectively. He's no stranger to adult arguments, parental or otherwise. But he'll be damned if he lets anyone treat his mother badly. Catherine's hand wraps around his forearm, her fingers tightening in a mix of guilt and gratitude and similar memories to Jason.

"This doesn't concern you." Jack warns him.

Jason merely smirks in response. He's dealt with people more intimidating than a has-been billionaire like Jack Drake. What's he going to do that Jason wouldn't deal right back? "My home. My mom. My concern."

"Jason." Catherine tries to pull him away, but he's determined to hold his ground. "Jason, please." He spares her a sideways glance to let her know he's listening. "Tim must be hungry. Why don't you take him the last of the fries?"

His eyes never leave Jack and he's enjoying the fifteen different shades of purple that colors the guy's face. "If he was hungry, he would've grabbed some already."

"Jason," she gets in front of him to meet him eye to eye. Suddenly the motherly look she gave Tim earlier is not so funny, especially directed at him. After all these years, and he still finds it difficult to disobey her. "I'm not asking."

"But…" He protests weakly, eyes shifting between his mom and Jack.

"I'll be fine." She gives him a slight push toward the hallway. "I promise."

She's broken promises before, but he bites his tongue to stop from saying that out loud. Reluctantly, he goes, grabbing the last of the fries and the final chili dog with him, and sending a silent threat to Jack over his shoulder.

He almost trips over Tim as he enters the room. The kid is curled up in his nest, lying on his side. Music blasts loud enough to drown out whatever muffled sounds make it through the shut door. His eyes are closed and he recites the periodic table of elements backwards. While Jason can appreciate the choice in music and the opportunity to mock just how much of a nerd he is, now is not the time. He's still invested in the argument, even if he can't be in the same room. And though there's not much he can do from down the hall, the first sound of any trouble and he'll make sure Jack has what's coming to him.

He keeps the doors open and turns the music off. The kid burrows his head beneath the pillow. "At least shut the door."

Jason doesn't spare him a glance, concentrating heavily on the rise of voices once more. He tenses, but drops the fries to the floor in front of the kid's face. "Eat before you give them something more to fight about." The kid sits up with a grimace, and okay, low blow.

"Look," Tim says, giving into his stomach and stuffing his face. There isn't much he can do about the argument out there, but he figures there's at least something he can fix. And he will welcome any distraction. "I'll get you the money for the food I screwed up, this meal, and rent." His promise is sincere and confident enough to grab Jason's attention.

"Oh?" Jason takes a bite of the chili dog. "And how are you going to come up with the money?"

"How do you come up with yours?" Tim counters.

Between Jack and his heir, Jason is regretting ever agreeing to this and greatly considering making them regret it as well. He tries to control his breathing and tries to convince himself that his mother would forgive himself if he just gives into this frustration.

A door slams before Jason can respond, with a fist or otherwise, and Tim pushes the fries away and suddenly looks smaller than he already is. "Great," he mutters.

Jason takes a deep breath, because he's sure Jack just left, and that means he has to do damage control. It means his mom doesn't need to deal with his attitude or anger on top of everything else. He heads to the kitchen for what he's sure is a long night. But, if he's honest, he's more used to nights like these than the days they have been having. He just hopes desperately, that tomorrow she is still doing good.

Jack doesn't come back for three days.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I owe nothing.**

**AN: Special thanks to all the reviews, views, follows, and favorites, and the PM! :) They really make my day! I'm glad people are still enjoying the story and I hope I can keep the story enjoyable in future chapters! Excellent guess from thedancingcrown about how Tim has been getting his money! Anybody have any guesses about how Jason has been getting his? Also, be forewarned, I am not the best at writing fight scenes.**

* * *

Jason admits he's curious. He has every right to be suspicious. It's not that the kid is loud or brash or much of a delinquent, at least not that Jason could find any evidence of. No, he's more like a shadow. Shifty and silent and guarded and all together missed when he wants to be. It's the determined set to his shoulders, the always calculating look in his eyes, though.

On the one hand, Jason gets it. If Tim can focus on anything else, he doesn't have to think about his father's absence. He can ignore the insomnia that follows the worsening nightmares. Jason's been there. Done that. And when he still wakes Jason up at three in the morning after a full night of work, Jason can't help but follow him out into the living and sit with him watching old cartoons.

He'd deny it would have anything to do with sympathy. After all, there was no one sitting up with him when his dad walked out and his mom wasn't coping. He's hoping the kid will spill his guts like he did before, just not about trips to the circus and falling aerialists. He's hoping he'll talk about where he gets the money. And where the kid keeps disappearing off to, mostly because it's worrying his mother and she's got enough on her mind. He remembers when he would disappear into the streets at night when he was younger, searching for his father. And sometimes searching for his mother when it got really bad. He almost asks but no one mentions Jack's name for the three days he's gone. And if he opens his mouth to question anything, Tim won't hesitate to throw the questions right back in his face. So, instead, they sit in silence.

Tim's as good avoiding being followed as he is avoiding questions. Jason doesn't know when he started pulling his little disappearing act at night, but he noticed the night Jack left. He went back to his room, sometime after he convinced his mother to go to bed, to find the kid and his most prized possessions, his camera and skateboard, gone. With a shrug, he figured like father like son, and let himself get some sleep. After all, it was no skin off his nose. Only to be awoken four hours later at three in the morning to Tim's nightmare dash to the television.

The second night Jack is gone, it happens again. And they start their late night marathons. The third night, Jason fails to catch him in the act, but tries to find him. That last night, he manages to follow for the first few minutes, but loses him in a dark alley. It's then, scratching his head, he decides if he can't follow him at night, he'll try following him during the day.

Jack comes back in time for breakfast with roses in hand. Jason rolls his eyes. Could he pick a more cliché flower? Tim shakes his head, scoffs in disbelief, and immediately pushes away from the table. He mutters that he isn't hungry, like he does with every other meal. But where he was a constant presence near Catherine in the mornings, almost like a promise, he opted for the distance once more and decided to leave for school early.

And Jason decides it's not a bad idea and follows his example. "You know, he fits his name." Jason doesn't mean to start with a rant, but he's pissed and he's not in the habit of hiding his bad moods. Tim doesn't answer. "What kind of jackass shows such little thought? Bet they were the first thing he saw in the florist's window. Mom's better than some cheap, unimaginative apology." Tim's jaw sets and Jason's just waiting for whatever defense he has lined up for his father this time. "I mean, her favorite flower is…"

"A daffodil. The kind with the white petals and pale pink in the center." Tim finishes for him and Jason's eyes narrow. The kid shrugs. "I'm observant and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out."

It takes a moment for Jason to realize this is a dig at Jack. "I can't believe he thinks roses will make up for him leaving at the first sign of trouble! Who does that?" It's a rhetorical question. He knows full well who does just that. He's been well acquainted with enough of those people in childhood.

"I can't believe he still goes for the roses." Tim snaps. Jason gets a good look at him, hands balled into fists, teeth grinding, face growing red, eyes growing wet in a swirl of anger and frustration and probably a million other things. "I can't believe it actually worked on your mom." The 'it never worked on my mom' goes unsaid, but Jason hears it clear as day. "I can't believe he'd just storm out like that again, after…" He starts shaking.

"Kid." Jason puts a hand on his shoulder, to turn him around. This is heading into a territory he didn't mean it to go and he doesn't know how to do this, how to handle him.

Tim shrugs off his hand and refuses to face him. "And I really can't believe you'd walk me to school out of the goodness of your heart. So, let's drop the pretenses. What do you want Jason?"

"Can't a guy just do a nice thing?" Jason shoves his hands in his pockets. Here's the perfect opportunity, but he's smart enough to know direct questions will lead him nowhere.

Tim snorts. "Not if the guy is you." He stops right at the chain link fence. With a heavy sigh and dragging a tired hand across his face, he takes a moment to compose himself. "Anyway," he reaches in his pocket and takes out a bundle of cash. "This should cover both meals from a few nights ago. I'm still working on rent, though." He shoves it in Jason's hands and walks through the gates knowing he'd never follow him into the schoolyard.

"How'd you get this?" Jason yells after him.

Tim shouts back over his shoulder, "Not the way you get yours."

* * *

Tim is smart, very smart. He can ace any class without trying. He can best most bullies with just his brain and a well placed word. He can handle teachers, make friends, get out of detention for falling asleep in class, hack computers. This, however, was probably not his smartest move. His friend's, Ive's, voice rings in his ears, "I'm telling you man, this is a bad idea." Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tim thinks. It might be the blood rushing to his ears instead of his friend's voice. He's not really sure. It's hard to tell over the ringing.

For all his intelligence, Tim decides he might need some more experience in the business world. It might help him to never wind up in a position like this again; the one where he's got a guy twice his size in a letter's man jacket, holding him by his neck as he dangles a good foot off the ground. He's guessing on the measurement, but he might be off on that count. Lack of oxygen tends to do that to a guy.

"You thought you'd just steal my money and get away with it." The guy slams him into the wall again, head smacking bricks. Tim's not sure if the black spots coloring his vision are due to the lack of oxygen or the growing head ache.

He gurgles and chokes in response. The translation would roughly be along the lines of 'The money was mine. We had a deal. And the black eye and bloody nose did not count as payment.' At least, that's what Tim intends to tell him. At the rate he's going his last word would be, "Aurgh…" And as far as last words go, that's rather disappointing and unimpressive.

"A little cliché, don't you think?" Took the words right out of Tim's mouth. Both he and the guy look over his shoulder, to the opening of the alleyway, and find Jason with a dangerous smirk. "What is with people today? First Jack Ass with the roses. Now the football star beating up the nerd. Let me guess, you want his lunch money while you're at it."

Tim squirms and claws at his attacker's meaty hand, gurgling desperately. "Geez, Tim. Rude much?" Jason tells him as he meanders his way over. "I'll get to you in a sec. First, let me get acquainted with your friend." His grin widens, flashing teeth and promising pain.

"This is none of your business." The guy warns.

"Your hand wrapped around that kid's neck makes it my business." Jason growls, and Tim pauses his struggling. His eyebrows fold inward in confusion. "Drop him and I might let you off easy."

The guy's eyes dart between Tim and Jason. "Nah," he shakes his head. "Don't think so, tough guy."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Oh, that's real original."

"I've got a deal to settle with this kid." The guy continues, ignoring the jab. "He stole my money. So either he or you reimburse me, or I get payback by rearranging his face." Rearranging my face again, Tim thinks dully. He agrees with Jason, this guy wouldn't know creativity if it wacked him over the head.

"I said drop him." Jason takes a swing at the guy's ear, but the guy ducks, dropping Tim to the ground. Tim's hand immediately ghosts over the bruises along his neck and he tries to suck lung-fulls of air. On hands and knees on the grimy pavement, he tries to stop the earth from spinning quite so fast. The wheezing isn't helping the pounding in his head.

Jason lunges for the guy and the two of them tussle, falling into trash cans and garbage bags. The guy throws a fist at Jason's nose, only for it to be retaliated and get one to the jaw. He manages to get on top, give a swift kick to Jason's ribs. It gives him time to jump up and make a dash for the front of the alley. That's when Jason grabs the back of his jacket, pulling him back into the fray and the jacket over the top of his head.

Tim glances up just in time to see the sunlight glint off something in the guy's hand. "Jason, look out." He croaks and Jason barely has time to jump out of the way of the blind swipes. The tip of the pocket knife catches his knuckle. "Son of a…" Jason shoves him, sends him sprawling. The knife falls to the ground out of reach and he scrambles blindly to get the coat off him. Jason kicks the knife further away before the guy gets any smart ideas. "You picked the wrong day to mess with me." Jason, breathing heavy, smearing the blood trickling from the cut on the back of his hands across his face as he wipes away the sweat, readies for round two, but the guy flees, throwing promises over his shoulder to get his money back and seek vengeance on them both.

With a humorless "ha," he offers Tim a hand up. Tim grabs it and as Jason pulls him to his feet he punches him square in the jaw. Tim falls back into the wall, biting back a moan. "That guy didn't have a bad idea." Jason shouts and Tim winces. The sun is too bright and Jason is much too loud. "Give me one good reason for not completely messing you up."

Slumped against the wall, eyes shut tight, fingers of the one hand holding him in place digging into the bricks, Tim holds his other arm up shakily to placate him. It takes a couple tries before he can find his voice, and even then it's sandpaper to his throat. "Didn't steal anything, you hypocrite." Jason folds his arms, dubiously. He convinces himself the kid doesn't really know anything and is guessing with the 'hypocrite' comment. "Money was mine. He took photography as an elective because he thought it would be an easy way to maintain his GPA and keep him on the team. I get him the photos so he gets his A, gets to stay on the team, and he gets me money."

"But that didn't work out." Jason surmised.

"Clearly." Tim says drily, between coughs. "Guy refused to pay and decided to beat me up. The day I came home with a bloody nose and black eye."

Jason snorts. "I knew the coach would never let someone as scrawny as you try out for football."

Tim rolls his eyes and instantly regrets it. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the nausea and dizziness and pounding in his head to all go away. "Anyway," he grounded out between clenched teeth, "I hacked into the school's data base, changed his grade, got him kicked off the team, and refused to change it back until he got me the money he owed me."

"Blackmail. Nice." Jason grinned.

"He paid me yesterday. I changed his grades back. He decides to try and get his money back today."

"So you've been selling photographs?" Jason raises an eyebrow.

"It's a good business." Tim defends. "I've got a decent clientele spanning between three schools, one of which is Gotham Academy. Can we go home now?"

Jason gives him a quick once over. He isn't in too good shape. He runs through the list of injuries in his head. Swollen eye, bleeding in the back of the head, bruised neck. And of course, the new split lip compliments of Jason's fist. "Can you walk on your own? Because your small and everything, but don't expect me to carry you."

"I'm fine." He mutters, still wheezing. He sways as he pushes himself off the wall to stand upright. Jason reaches out a hand to steady him, but Tim pulls away, falling back into the bricks.

Jason huffs, offended. "I did just save you."

"And punch me." Tim snaps back, contemplating just sliding down the wall to sit on the ground, grimy as it may be. Jason could just leave him for all he cares. Standing is becoming more of a challenge.

"Come on. It's not like I'm going to do it again… right now."

"That's comforting." Tim retorts.

"I thought you wanted to go home, bird brain."

"I do." But it seems farther to Tim now than it did before. "Or, you know, staying here works to."

As much as Jason wouldn't mind that, his mother would. Grumbling, Jason forcibly pulls Tim to lean on him and drags him out of the alley. All the while, Tim bites back gasps as each movement adds to the growing headache. "Let's go. You're welcome by the way."

"Yeah, yeah," Tim mumbles, fading. "My hero."

* * *

Tim wakes up on the couch with the bag of frozen peas pressed against his swollen eye. It throbs dully under the cold and his throat aches, but he's not as dizzy as he felt in the alleyway, at least not once he gets his bearings. The apartment as a whole is quiet and his heart sinks.

It's all too familiar for his liking, to wake up to an empty house and little more than a note not even written by his parents but the housekeeper. He suddenly feels sick again and wonders if it has more to do with the deafening silence or the new pounding in his head.

"I don't know why I'm surprised." Tim mutters to himself, running a hand through his hair and wincing when his finger brush the crusty cut. There's something self-deprecating in his tone and in his dry chuckle of disbelief. It's an admonishment for being so foolish, more for believing any promise that came out of his father's mouth than getting his ass handed to him by a customer.

"Surprised about what?" The gruff voice startles Tim and he turns too quickly at the protest of his head. Jason leans against the doorway, a glass of water in hand.

Never before had he been so glad to see that sardonic smirk and leather jacket. "Are we the only one's here?" He already knows the answer, but he's hoping he's wrong. He is glad that he isn't alone, though.

Jason hands him the water. "Drink. You sound horrible." And he grabs a seat on the arm of the couch by his feet. "Daddy dearest decided to take mom out." He grimaces and Tim isn't sure if it has more to do with the money Jack will spend or the idea of Catherine with his dad.

Tim's frown deepens and it's starting to add to his growing headache. "Out where? When will they be back?" He knew from experience such questions were pointless. Two weeks could easily turn into two months. The answer to where held the same results. But old habits are hard to break. And as much as he's setting himself up for disappointment, the answer is always a momentary comfort. They are planning on coming back.

"Some restaurant somewhere." Jason turns up his nose. "Don't know where he got the money and don't want to know. So just us for dinner and mom wanted me to remind you, in case you get any more genius ideas, that you're banned from the kitchen."

And something in Tim relaxes because oh. _Oh!_ He falls back into the cushions of the couch and takes a deep breath of relief. "It's better than three months in Chile, I guess." And Jason gives him a funny look.

"Your mom didn't go for the roses but she went for a trip to Chile?"

Tim shrugs because, well, yeah. "Mom and dad got into an argument. Dad stormed out. When he came back a week later, he had plane tickets. She always wanted to go to Chile."

"Where were you?"

"It was the two weeks between the end of school and the start of Summer Camp when he left, he came back, and they left. Then, I left for Summer Camp. I came home from Summer Camp. I was home for a week. I went back to school. And finally they came home. It's the way it always was."

Jason shakes his head. Part of him gets it, but the other part wants to shake Jack, raise Tim's mother's spirit from the dead to shake her, and then shake Tim for the way he says it like it's nothing. There were days growing up where Jason was left alone in the apartment. When his mother would disappear for weeks on end and he'd go to look for her to bring her back. Or she'd come back on her own. But it was different. It wasn't her fault. She tried, never succeeded until recently, but she tried. And that seemed like more than Jack or Janet ever did.

Jack didn't even have the decency to look concerned over his passed out son on the couch before they went off to the restaurant. Jack didn't even notice his son. It was Catherine, who Jason knew could use some time away from the apartment, who deserved a nice dinner and a fun night out. She fretted over the boy, and Jason promised to play nurse so she'd go. He didn't like it, but he knew she could use it.

"He gets tunnel vision sometimes." And Jason groans, rubbing a hand over his face because he doesn't want to listen to the kid defend his father. "He focuses on one thing to the exclusion of everything else. He doesn't mean to do it. He just gets distracted sometimes."

"Doesn't make it right." He mutters. "If I came home like that," he gestures to Tim's swollen eye and the frozen bags of vegetables, "mom would have said something." Which is only partially true. She would've said something on a good day, when she was coherent. But Jason tries to only count those days. Tim gets a knowing, sympathetic look in his eye that Jason doesn't like, but he's smart enough to keep his mouth shut about it.

"I'm sure she would." He murmurs. And there's a hint of understanding mixed with longing to the tone.

Jason makes them grilled cheese sandwiches and they watch some old cartoons as they eat. He grabs the money Tim got from earlier and tells the kid to stay put while he makes a grocery run. They both know it isn't really a grocery run and Jason should've known the kid wouldn't stay put.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own.**

**AN: So sorry it's taken me so long to update. I was planning on updating earlier, but life got in the way. And then I felt the need to add a few things. Thank you so much for the follows, favorites, reviews, and PMs! I hope the story is still enjoyable for everyone. And I've very much screwed with cannon timeline, so I hope you forgive me and it doesn't impede the reading.**

* * *

Home was only ever a word for Tim growing up. It was hollow, meant nothing. He heard many definitions: Home is where you rest your head at night or home was where your family was. But these were constantly changing. The closest he could come to a definition that fit was home is where the heart is. It was that definition that gave the word meaning.

And in that case home is the shroud of shadows at night for Tim. It is his breath making ghosts that led the way. It is the chill of the night and the smell of muggy Gotham air and car exhaust. It is the sounds of police sirens and the rush of traffic and the flapping of capes in the distance. It is his camera swinging safely around his neck, and the rust beneath his hands that turn them red and later itchy as he climbs fire escapes and grips bricks when reaching dizzying heights. This is where he found home.

He wonders if Jason feels the same way. He's not nearly as challenging to follow as Batman sometimes could be. He moves like he owns the streets, like he is no stranger to the shadows, like he knows Gotham like the back of his hand. He wonders if here, Jason can be a ghost, too; where he can melt into the darkness, become as invisible as Tim sometimes feels. Invisible is not always bad. After all, there are some pretty decent photographs he has of Batman because of it.

Jason stands in the alley below him, having a discussion with a shady guy some ten years his senior. Tim can't make out much about the man or what they are talking about, even when using his camera's zoom. Despite Jason's easy smirk, there's a subtle stiffness to his shoulders. Jason laughs at something, and even as he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, his eyes never leave the guy. Tim can't get a good view of the paper, either.

The shady acquaintance suddenly slams him into a wall and shoves a pocket knife at his throat, and Tim takes a moment to assess the situation. In the seconds it takes him to concoct a decent plan, the guy is backing off and the two disappear out of the alley.

Tim follows them on fire escapes and roof tops to a condemned building a couple streets away and the two stand before a pile of tires, hub caps, and various other car parts. They chat a bit more, Tim guesses it's more haggling, and another sum of money is about to be shoved Jason's way.

From Tim's vantage point, he can see the flashing red and blue before they hear the sirens. He starts to climb down to warn Jason, afraid if he waits Jason will get caught or the guy will startle. It's the latter that also keeps him from shouting out.

He's quick, but not quick enough. The sirens wail and Jason grabs the money. He makes a run for it. The other guy is hot on his heels. If they go down, they are going down together.

Part of Tim wants to shake Jason. No amount of money is worth this, worth Jason's life in the guy's case or being taken away in the police's. The other part of Tim, as frustrated as he is, realizes that to Jason it is worth it. If it means a roof over his mother's head and food in their stomachs he's willing to risk anything.

He helped with the taxes. He knows well how strapped for cash they are. But it's not until this moment he sees just how desperate they really are. Knowing and seeing are two very different things.

What the guy might do to Jason sends a chill down Tim's spine. And because of their little chase, this complicates everything. Tim can't just lower the ladder of the fire escape yet. On foot there is a greater chance of the police finding them. Whatever they do, though, they need to get the guy off Jason's tail. And that's when Tim comes up with a plan.

He times it perfectly. He jumps down the final stair, right on top of the guy. The man's head collides with the concrete, rendering him unconscious. As Jason turns to see what the new threat is, Tim decks him in the nose.

"Son of a..." Jason curses, holding his nose as drops of blood slip in between his fingers. The kid has a killer right hook.

Tim grabs his arm, tells him to shut up, and presses him against the bricks of the building as a police car passes. "Come on," Tim yanks him toward the rusted ladder and leads him up the fire escape, one after another, until they reach the top. They run across the roof tops, ducking down with each new siren they hear pass. And down the other side.

Once feet are on the ground, he turns to his savior. "You punched me!"

Tim shrugs. "Now we're even, you hypocrite." Jason seems sure a street over is enough distance, but Tim doesn't want to risk it. He leads them further into the alley just in case. "Taking the scenic route to the grocery store?" He keeps his voice low.

Jason does not. "What are you even doing here?"

Tim is very grateful he doesn't appear to have a knife of his own. "What are you?" He bites back.

"I told you to stay put." Jason grabs his wrist and turn him around. Tim immediately ducks out of his grasp and takes a step or two back. "Do you have a death wish?"

Tim thinks he might with how much he's pissing Jason off. "Punching you was necessary." Not that he didn't enjoy it.

"How was it n-" Jason stops himself. They could argue that later. "That's not what I meant." The idea of Tiny Tim running around Gotham was ridiculous and bad enough without sticking his nose in anything illegal. Never mind the fact Jason is involved with said illegal thing. He doesn't even want to think about what Catherine would do to him if she found out their patient left the couch, let alone this.

"I've been doing this for a while." Tim gestures to his camera, as thought that is an answer.

Jason's eyes narrow and, before Tim can blink, he snatches it away. "Did you get a photo of that?"

"Hey!" Tim grabs for it, but Jason pulls it away, just out of reach. "Give it back! Don't!"

"Your lucky I don't smash this to bit," Jason clicks through the photos and quirks an eyebrow at what he finds. "Batman?" And okay, Jason can admit to himself, even if he won't admit it out loud, that the shots are impressive. He wonders if the zoom is just really that amazing or if the kid really got that close to the action.. "Another one of your clients?" His tone is mocking despite how impressed he is.

Tim steals it back with a sneer. "It's a hobby. I'd be crazy to sell them." Jason would agree because they're good- some make the newspaper look like child's play- if it wasn't for the amount some would be willing to pay.

"Call it what you like, bird brain, but it's still considered stalking." Jason snorts. He starts walking out the alley and Tim follows.

"Yeah, and what you're doing is considered stealing." Tim retorts.

"Hey, I'm not the one who gets caught and worries my mother." Jason argues.

"Your past Juvie records would beg to differ." Tim smirks.

"Those are confidential." Jason's fists ball tightly.

"And the system isn't that difficult to hack."

"So, that's how you figured it out."

"Elementary, my dear Watson."

"Whatever, Sherlock."

A blinding light shines at the two of them. "Hey, you!" An officer warns, "Stop where you are!"

Jason curses under his breath, about to make a run for it, when Tim grabs his wrist and turns him back around. "Don't." His loud protest sounds more pleading than anything, and it is enough to stop Jason in his tracks. "The cops will help!"

"What are you doing?" Jason cries, breaking free right at the moment the cop is inches away and blinds them with his flashlight once more. The officer examines their respective injuries, including Jason's bloody nose, and Jason is doing some observing of his own. He marvels at just how quickly Tim changes before his eyes.

"What's going on here?" The tone is suspicious and accusatory and Jason resents it.

He folds his arms and mutters, "Nothing."

Tim shoots him a look. "I got jumped and he helped me out."

"What are you doing out here this late?"

Tim manages to look sheepish, but Jason doubts he really is. "I followed him when I wasn't supposed to."

"Oh? And where was he going?" The officer asks Tim, knowing he won't get an answer from the tight-lipped Jason.

"Grocery store."

"At this time?" The officer repeats.

"Mom just got paid but she didn't have time to run to the store for some milk before her other job."

Jason cuffs him upside the head. "Shut up!" He warns. Playing along should be easy.

"And your dad?" The officer asks.

"Haven't seen him in days." Tim shrugs.

Jason always heard people say the most believable lies have a kernel of truth to them. And it is not an unlikely story for these parts. There's many times he's been grateful for a market nearby open all hours of the night just for this reason. Absent father, distracted mother, he's lived it. And the police tend to be of the mindset that Crime Alley is the corner stone of poor parenting choices. The mere thought makes Jason sneer. Jack Drake was a jerk of a father when he was rich, too. But with Tim, it's hard for Jason to tell where the lie begins.

"None of your business," Jason growls.

The cop gives them a sympathetic look, which pisses Jason off more. "Relax, kid. I'm not going to book you or anything. I had a kid brother, too. Just get on home and take care of that nose of yours. Looks like they got you good."

"Lucky shot." Jason mutters, glaring darkly at Tim, who pulled off the innocent look a little too well.

As they walk away, Tim releases a breath of relief.

* * *

They're about halfway home when they see it. The batmobile just sitting there before an old theatre. Jason gets a hungry look in his eyes and a smile snakes across his face. He rubs his hands together and heads to the car. Tim grabs him and pulls him away. "What do you think you're doing?" Tim demands.

"What do you think?" Jason grins. "You know how much those tire would go for?"

"Didn't you just get money?"

"Yeah, but that won't even cover rent! With those tires, we'd be set for a while!"

"But that's the batmobile!" Tim protests, as he snaps a picture. Jason isn't sure how he manages to get such great photos with the flash off.

"Duh."

"As in, the Batman's vehicle."

"Is there someone else who would drive the batmobile?"

Tim knows a losing battle when he sees one. "We can't steal from Batman." This was wrong on so many levels.

"Why not? It's his own fault? Who parks a car like that in a place like this? Plus, it's not like he can't just replace them. Clearly the bat has some money to be going around in that thing. I bet he even has more than one." Jason starts to move out of the alley again, but Tim pulls him back. "What?"

Tim sighs. He can't believe he's about to play accomplice, but Jason is going to do this with or without him and if he does it alone, there's sure to be trouble. He, at least, owes it to Catherine. "What's your genius plan?"

"Take the tires." Jason says as though it's obvious.

Tim snorts. "That's not a plan. Especially against the goddamn batman."

"Fine, then," he challenges, "What's _your _genius plan?"

Tim flashes him a smile and fiddles with his camera. "Well, plan A is I distract him, send him on a goose chase while you lift the tires."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

Tim's smile widens, he holds up his camera, and snaps a picture of Jason, blinding him with the flash.

"And plan B?" Jason grumbles, rubbing at his eyes.

"I'm beaten up enough to look like I've just been mugged." Tim says with a shrug. "Though, that one could possibly result in being escorted home or taken to the hospital or police station."

"Do that and I'll give you a reason for being in the hospital." Jason threatens. "Mom doesn't need another reason to worry about you."

"Oh, right. I wouldn't want to go to the hospital or police station anyway." Tim rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. He wonders if that would worry his father, as well. "Maybe I'll save that for plan D instead."

Jason rolls his eyes, not entirely convinced. "Do I even want to know how many plans you've come up with?"

Tim shrugs. "Probably not." He turns serious suddenly. "But I'll only help you on two conditions."

"And what's that?" Jason eyes him suspiciously.

"If we get away with this, you're done. No more lifting tires. No more illegal stuff." Tim doesn't want to even think what Catherine would do if she knew someone had a knife to her son's throat just moments before. Again, it is the least he can do for Catherine, if not for Jason as well.

Jason scoffs, shaking his head. "I need to…"

Tim holds up a hand. "I know. And I'll help. I'll help pay the bills and the rent and everything else. And I'll help you find honest work."

"Not many people looking to hire someone like me, as you pointed out. And your photography gig isn't exactly paying the bills."

"Trust me, Jay. You trust me to help with lifting the tires off the batmobile, don't you? Trust me with this." Jason doesn't say anything for a while. "Your dad died working for Two-Face," Tim says quietly. "If you died the same way your mom couldn't handle that."

Jason wants to punch him in the face again for even mentioning that, for even suggesting he'd get in it that deep or work for that murderer, for even thinking for a minute he knows anything about his mother. But if he pulls this off, their set for a while. And if they want to pull it off, they have to do it soon. "Fine."

"And you have to go back to school."

"No. No way."

"Jason."

"No. You said honest work."

"I said two conditions. Honest work was the first one. And school is part of the agreement or the deal's off."

Sighing, Jason grits out between clenched teeth. "Fine. Fine, whatever."

"Say it." Tim demands.

Defeated, Jason's shoulder's slump. "If we pull this off, I will go back to school and find honest work. And if we don't?" He questioned, almost hoping to throw a wrench in his plans, simply because it's Tim and he's a know-it-all.

Tim grins once more. "We end up in juvie. But we will pull this off." And he disappears into the shadows, armed with his camera, to stalk Batman and get his attention.

* * *

Jason works diligently and quickly. By the time he starts on the third one, he sees a flash the next street or two over and hears Tim taunt, "Say cheese, Batman!" In the darkness, in the middle of Crime Alley, the voice sounds too small and too innocent to be out this late, to be out there at all. He just hopes they can really pull this off because he's not looking forward to Juvie again. Thinking of that, he starts to work even faster.

Just as he has the last one off, swiping a hand over his sweaty brow, he drags them over to one of the condemned buildings he rotates as a place for his stash. And now, he doesn't know what to do because Tim didn't mention that part of the plan.

After some debate and a cautious stroll to the alley, where he finds nothing and no one but gets a good laugh at Batman scratching his head over the missing tires, he heads back home and back upstairs, fully expecting a call from the police station. Instead, in the flashing of the television screen, there's Tim, curled up in some blankets, like he didn't just have Batman chasing after him.

"Hey, Jason. How'd it go?" He never takes his eyes off the screen.

For a minute, Jason questions if they really just did that. But he has the dirt on his hands to prove it. "It went fine." As he stands in the doorway, he shifts from foot to foot and scratches the back of his neck. "So, uh," he clears his throat, "Thanks. For the help."

Tim shrugs it off. "I got some pretty good pictures of Batman to add to my collection. Thank _you_!"

"You, know," Jason says, sitting next to him and rubbing his hand off on his pants, hoping he can wash them before Catherine notices, "if you sold some of those photos of Batman we could probably buy back your mansion."

"I'm not selling…" Tim starts but stops when he's struck by an idea. He turns to Jason with a brilliant grin, despite his split lip, but Jason supposes that and being chased by his idol has more due to adrenalin than the actual state of his injuries. "You're a genius, Jay!"

"So, you'll do it?" Jason is a bit surprised.

Tim shook his head, the look in his eyes mysterious. "Not exactly."

Jason is right. Given enough time for the excitement and adrenalin to leave his body, Tim was feeling the injuries all over again. He's sure the kid made it worse and Jason's quick to reapply the frozen veggies and keep the old cartoons down low to avoid adding the splitting headache, if only because of his promise to his mother. There's no doubt the kid will be feeling it for a couple of days.


	7. Chapter 7

Grumbling, Batman enters the cave. Alfred stands ready at the computers with Nightwing, who is barely concealing his chuckles. "Welcome back, sir. How was your night?" Alfred remains stoic, but there is a sarcastic lightness to his tone that makes Nightwing laugh harder and Batman grumble more.

"You know how my night was." Batman growled, tearing off his cape and cowl.

"Indeed, sir. Most unfortunate. Do tell, how have the tires managed to go missing?"

"Stolen." Batman snapped.

"I see." The English butler hesitated, glancing at the youngest close to falling out of the computer chair as he held his sides. "And who were these dastardly villains who dare steal from Batman?"

Batman took a deep breath. "Children." He muttered.

"Sorry, sir. Didn't quite catch that."

"Children." He snapped louder.

"Really, B?" Nightwing gasped between breaths. "Losing your edge? The goddamn batman, the night himself, is robbed by children?"

"What will you do?" Alfred questioned.

Batman growled. "I will figure out who these kids are. I've gone up against some of the worst rogues this city has ever seen. A couple of kids don't stand a chance."

"I don't know," Nightwing sang, face red and shoulders still shaking from the laughter. "They eluded you tonight. My money's on them."

"Dick." Batman scolded. "It's not funny."

"You're right." Nightwing beamed up at him. "It's hilarious." Alfred smirked, handing a fifty to Nightwing behind Batman's back.

"If you two are finished," Batman spins around and eyes the two humorlessly, "we've got work to do."

...

When Catherine and Jack walked through the door, they're greeted by some cartoon she thinks Jason might've watched when he was younger. It's the uncertainty that threatens to send the overwhelming wave of guilt crashing down on her. The evening had been nice, though, despite worry over Tim. She didn't want to ruin it. As best she can, she shoves the thought from her mind and files it away with all the other ways she is a lousy mother.

Jack puts a hand on her shoulder with a firm squeeze. When she peers over at him, he gives her a kiss.

"Would you look at that?" She nods to the couch where both boys have fallen asleep under a nest of blankets, cushions, and pillows. It brings a smile to her face once more.

The closer she steps, the more she notices first the bloodied nose, then the red smears across the back of Jason's dirtied hands, and finally his dirtied pants. With another twinge of guilt, she wonders if it is something else she missed. She doesn't think it's possible with how much she fretted over the two of them, but part of her wants to wake up Jason to check, and tell him to do a load of laundry.

"Erm, yes." Jack mutters, distractedly, loosening his tie. "Great buddies, the two of them. They're thick as thieves. We must be doing something right."

Catherine's not so sure. But, she reminds herself bitterly, she has been known to miss things. Either way, she lays no claim in the man Jason is becoming. She doesn't know where he gets it, but she doesn't take any credit for it.

She forces herself to remember all the things she's been learning over the course of the program. It's what Jason would tell her to do. There is no use getting stuck on the past. She can't change that. And regardless of what happened before, she is going to be the best mother she can be, the kind Jason deserves. She tucks the blankets around her boy and kisses his forehead.

When she looks up, she is surprised to find Jack staring at Tim with a mix of grief and fondness as he brushes some hair out of the kid's face. "He looks like her." His voice is almost too low to hear. His eyes never leave Tim. "I never noticed it before. He's grown a bit, too." Jack shakes his head helplessly, and Catherine thinks she might just know how he's feeling.

"Maybe," She ventured carefully for fear of another argument. As the words leave her mouth, she appreciates a little too much the irony of her, of all people, giving parenting advice. "The two of you could spend some time together?"

"Maybe," he mutters noncommittally with a frown. "Come on." He grabs her hand and leads her away toward the bedroom. "It's getting late."

...

The first thing Jason does after paying the rent is stock up on groceries. Tim throws in a couple of comments and jokes about stocking up for the zombie apocalypse. Even Catherine has a comment or two about the impressive haul.

"Is the market having a special sale?" She grins as she piles cans in the cabinets. It feels a little like Christmas morning. Jason just flashes her a grin of his own. For the first time in a while, he can breath easy.

"Here," Tim starts to push off the couch, "Let me help."

Both protest and force him to lie back down. He'd been on couch rest since Jason dragged him home and he was not about to break it a second time. And Jason didn't trust him anywhere near the kitchen.

He huffed and folded his arms. "This is really unnecessary." He wanted to say he's had worse and if he could run around Gotham rooftops a night or two ago, he could help put groceries away. But he didn't think either would bode well with Catherine.

"Oh, let us take care of you." She graces him with her smile. It's not the same smile, but something about it reminds him of his mother. He obediently sinks back down to the cushions, unable to smile back. He suddenly feels worse for wear.

"Here," Jason shoves a glass in his face. "Have some milk." And he laughs and Tim, even though he's not feeling it, manages a breathy chuckle.

Catherine's eyes fly between the two of them, somewhere between amused and affectionate. "Am I missing something?"

"Inside joke." Jason answers dismissively.

Catherine practically coos. "Aren't you two just so sweet? I'm so glad you two are getting along." Jason's hand flies to his nose as Tim's flies to the split lip, and the two of them start laughing again.

"You don't know the half of it." Tim tells her.


	8. Chapter 8

He sees the way Tim's eyes lit up at the mention of celebrating his birthday. He'd say it was like Christmas morning, but Jason was starting to wonder if he ever had a Christmas morning. Jack pulled out a manila envelope and okay it's not a new part for a camera or something for skateboarding and it's probably not a comic book. Everyone's eyebrows fold inward, but the smile takes up Tim's whole face.

He opens the envelope with bated breath, shooting hesitant looks toward Jason because whatever it is, can they afford it? Jason waves a hand and mentally tells him to just enjoy whatever it is, because it's a birthday and his birthdays might never have been much but his mom had always at least tried to make them special. It was usually something small and not in an oh-so-important manila envelope, but surely he could let the kid have this moment, at the very least.

That's when he pulls out the tickets for a baseball game and the entire room remains silent, not that Jack notices. Jason and his mom haven't known them for very long, but five seconds with the kid and you know baseball is not his favorite pastime. Jason could think of ten things the kid would enjoy more and he doesn't even like Tim.

"Thanks, dad." The smile wanes a bit.

Jack gives that fake laugh Jason can't stand and slaps his son on the back. "The best birthday present, right? I can't remember the last time I've been to a game! Finally decided to take you like you always asked!"

And Jason can see it in his eyes, no matter how much he tries to hide it.

"Yeah, dad. It's a great gift."

His fists clench at his sides. "So, you've always wanted to go to a baseball game?"

Tim shrugs. "I guess."

"Funny, I've never heard you talk about it." Jason challenges and Tim's eyes fly between him and his dad.

"What are you talking about, Jason?" Jack laughs again. "He talks about it all the time."

Jason's eyes narrow on Tim. "Oh, yeah? Who is your favorite player then?"

Tim takes a deep breath. "I like the one dad likes." Jack's grin grows bigger and he starts babbling about some pitcher.

"What do you like about him?"

Tim glares at Jason. "He's got a pretty decent RBI or ERA or whatever." He rolls his eyes and Jack slaps him on the back again and says he's got good taste in players and how much he will enjoy the game and about his RBI though his ERA could use some work.

Jason opens his mouth, but Tim cuts him off. "It really is a great gift."

"A great gift?" Jason arches an eyebrow.

Catherine puts a hand on his arm. "Jason," she warns.

He shrugs off her hand, grabs Tim's wrist, and tugs him into the hallway. "We'll be back in a sec." He tells his mom, grinding his teeth that Jack doesn't even notice they leave the room.

"Jason, what?" Tim pulls out of his grip, but Jason corners him against the furthest wall.

"You don't like baseball." He growls. "Any idiot would know you don't like baseball."

"Stop." He moves to shoulder passed him, but Jason traps him.

"It's a bad birthday gift."

"It's fine." Tim stresses. Jason wonders, not for the first time, why everything Jack does is fine. He must read the incredulous look on his face, because he continues, trying to convince him. "He wants to do something with me."

"It's an excuse…" Jason begins.

"I know it's an excuse." Tim snaps. "I'm not an idiot." He sighs. "What do you want to hear, Jason? No, I don't like baseball. No, I never asked to go to a game. Yes, it's an excuse so he can go. But he's taking me with him. Don't you get that? He's going to take me with him this time. So it's fine."

Jason wasn't sure what was sadder. Tim not knowing or knowing and being okay with it. "It's your birthday. You should do what you want to do. Not what someone else wants to do."

"I want to spend time with my dad."

He's lying. Jason can tell he's lying. He means he has the chance to spend time with his dad and that's what he always wanted growing up. "Do you? Do you really?"

"If this is about the money he shouldn't have spent…"

Jason smacks his hands on the wall and Tim flinches. "This is not about the damn money! This is about Jack being a bad father."

Tim shoves him away. "Like Willis was any better." He snarls and stomps off to the kitchen. Jason grabs his wrist, spins him around, and punches him on the mouth.

He crashes to the floor and Catherine and Jack rush to the hallway to find Jason standing over him breathing heavy. Catherine's eyes narrow on her son and Jack looks between the two boys confused and unsure what to do. She opens her mouth, taking a step forward, when Tim cuts her off. "I fell," he says quickly.

...

Catherine doesn't believe him. He knows she doesn't believe him. She's smart enough to not believe him. But he isn't surprised when Jack does. He sits on the counter with a bag of frozen peas held over the growing bruise and split lip. He's sure Catherine will have a word or two with her son and, alright, yes, he feels a bit guilty about that.

Jason comes into the room, shoulders slumped, hands shoved in pockets, and tail between his legs. Tim stiffens as Jason leans on the cabinets opposite of him. They stare at each other for a few seconds before both blurt out "Sorry."

Another staring contest of confusion. "Sorry?" Jason grumbles. "Why are you sorry? I'm the one who punched you."

"I shouldn't have said that about your dad."

"I probably shouldn't have said any of that about yours, even though it was true."

Tim's mouth twitches and he winces at the sting of his lip. "So we both said things we shouldn't have said."

Jason nods. "I just don't get it, kid."

And just like that the half attempt at a smile vanishes. "What's there to get?" His voice is wary and Jason gets that. He understands why.

"He's…" Jason starts and Tim knows it's going to be a rant.

"They weren't around much or I wasn't. When I was three, they took me to the circus."

"The nightmare's right?"

Tim nods. "It was the only time they promised something and kept their word. They weren't bad parents. They never hurt me or anything."

"There's more than one way to hurt someone, birdbrain." Tim didn't say anything to that. His face was starting to glaze over and Jason knew he was shutting down. "So, you never went with them on one of their trips?"

Tim shook his head. "They shipped me off to boarding school first chance they got. Then it was Summer Camp. I was home a few weeks at the most each year and most of the time something came up so I'd have to go back to school before they got home. They'd send postcards or little trinkets from their trips."

"That's just sad."

"That's just the way it was." Jason didn't like the way he just accepted it. The kid shouldn't have to just accept it.

"I have no illusions about who my parents are or were." Tim tells him. "But my dad's alive and he wants me with him now. I won't get that chance with my mom." His eyes grow wet and he hides his face, but Jason has the decency to not say anything about it.


	9. Chapter 9

For the week before the game, none of the three other residents in the house believ Jack will actually follow through. "I'm not holding my breath." Tim tells Jason. And just in case, Catherine and Jason have a backup plan for a celebration. Even when Jack buys the boys caps and gloves, they exchange a wary look, because it is getting all the more challenging not to get invested. "Years of practice," Tim assures him, but Jason isn't so sure.

Then the day of the game arrives and true to his word, he packs them into the car and takes them to the stadium. The entire place smells of popcorn and peanuts and soft pretzels. They stock up on food, despite the nagging in the back of Jason's head. After all, Jack is the one paying. How he got the money, he isn't sure. But, he is going to be Scarlet O'Hara for the day and worry about that later.

When they get to their seats, though, Jack is distracted. He constantly surveys the area around them. Jason and Catherine marvel at the seats. They never could imagine attending a game, let alone sitting so close. Jack has never sat so far back in his life.

"Looking for something?" Tim asks, glancing around. Jack merely flaps a dismissive hand in response. He grumbles something and gets up to leave.

"Where are you going?" He asks. "The game is about to start."

"Need a refill." Jack grumbles over his shoulder. Tim sighs and slumps down in his seat. He fiddles absently with the camera around his neck.

The announcer lists the starting lineup and as the players take the field, Jason and Catherine are too distracted to notice part of their party's disappearance. They point at different players, cheer and boo along with the crowd, laugh and smile. Before Tim even realizes what he's doing, he lifts his camera.

It's too perfect not to. He wants that. He wants to capture that moment for himself, the way a kid captures fireflies in mayo jars. From the distance behind his lens, once more he feels his stomach twist. He wonders if there was ever a moment like this with Janet, simply enjoying one another's company. The perfect Kodak moment with matching grins.

"When I told you to take a picture because it would last longer, I was just joking, bird brain." Jason breaks him out of his thoughts. Red faced, he lowers his camera, expecting the normal annoyance. He's shocked to find amusement behind his eyes. "Hey, where's your old man?"

"Refill." Tim's not disappointed. At least, he tries not to be. It's not like he doesn't expect it. He just wishes it didn't hurt so much. And he feels like an idiot for getting his hopes up. Some small part of him is still holding onto the thread of hope that his father is honestly just getting a refill, but the doubt in Jason's eyes, and even Catherine's, don't help.

"I'm sure he'll be back soon." More false promises, but at least she means well.

...

It's not until the bottom of the fifth inning, bases loaded and two outs with two strikes, Jack returns, empty handed. Catherine offers a sympathetic smile to Tim who couldn't slump down any further in his seat and Jason is livid. The only thing stopping him from tossing his soda on the guy is it was finished two innings ago and the only thing stopping him from punching the guy is Catherine's arm around his shoulders.

"Great news!" Jack's grinning from ear to ear, oblivious to his son's obvious disappointment. "I've found us better seats!"

"That's where you've been all this time?" Jason snarls. "The game's halfway over."

"It's fine." Tim murmers. Except, it's not. It's really not.

"Shut up, Timmers." Jason warns. "In what universe is it fine?"

But Jack's not paying attention. He's already halfway up the stairs, leaving the trash in their seats, babbling about these new incredible seats. Tim's name is tossed around like he did just for him, but nobody is fooled. Sighing, Tim follows, and Catherine drags a fuming Jason along after.

...

They wind up outside one of the luxury sky boxes, the kind people own and rent out for the season. It's something Jason is sure is too expensive for them to even look at. And Jason is really curious how someone as dim-witted as Jack managed to pull it off. He'd be more impressed if he wasn't fighting the urge to put the guy's head through a wall.

Catherine fidgets, pulling at her clothes and tugging at her purse strap. "Are you sure about this?" She glances hesitantly at Jason, half for the comfort and half to ensure he doesn't put someone in the hospital. She'd offer the advice to take a deep breath and count to ten, but she's not sure she deserves that right just yet.

Jack fakes a laugh and clapsTim on the back. "Of course. Anything for Timbo, here." He shakes his shoulder.

"And this is for Tim, how?" Jason grits his teeth and raises an eyebrow.

Jack snorts in response. "Don't be ridiculous, Jason. Nobody could enjoy the game with seats like that." By this point Jason is shaking. He wants to drive his fist through some bone of Jack's. He doesn't care which one as long as he has the pleasure of feeling it shatter. He opens his mouth to tell him if he just tried, if he just stayed put for one second of Tim's life, he would have found the same enjoyment he and his mother had. That it's not about the placement of the seats and was never about the placement of the seats.

"Besides," Jack tacks on, "There's an old friend I haven't seen for a while."

Catherine and Jason glance over their shoulder at Tim, but his face is stone. They can't get a read on him. "Dear," even the endearment she uses doesn't get a cringe out of him, "this is supposed to be Tim's day." She tries to remind him gently, torn between avoiding another argument and protecting the boy.

He waves a flippant hand before knocking on the door. "Timbo doesn't mind, do you?" Not even a glance back at his son.

"Sure, dad." He mutters.

The door opens wide to show none other than Bruce Wayne, Gotham's richest man and playboy. "Who is it, B?" A voice calls from behind.

Jason is stunned. Catherine is mortified. But, his dad's "old friend" shatters Tim's stone-mask. "Brucie, my friend! What a coincidence, mind if we join you?" Jack shakes his hand, just cool enough to not be eager. Catherine is tugging on Jack's arm, shooting him looks. Jason and Tim are rooted in their spot, mouths open.

"Jack." Bruce replies. Jason can read the annoyance underneath the cool amiability. While it wins him points for hating the same person, the enemy of my enemy and all that, Jason can't stand another fake socialite. Much too many masks and never enough sincerity. Once more, Jack seems to not notice.

"Bruce?" A head peaks out from behind the billionaire, none other than Dick Grayson. Tim's eyes practically pop out of their sockets. Dick frowns up at his guardian. "Aw, you promised no work."

"I am so sorry." Catherine apologizes. "We really do not wish to intrude."

"It won't be more than a minute." Jack assures them all. "Just want to say a quick hello." Dick does little to hide his disdain.

"You already said it." Jason folds his arms. Better than keeping them loose. Less chance of fists flying.

"I'm a huge fan!" Tim blurts out. All eyes turn to him and he flushes under all the attention. He shrinks back behind Catherine and Jason. Jason practically facepalms. For a moment, he wonders if Jack knew all along and this was really a part of the birthday gift. But, judging by the glare Jack shoots his son, he's more embarrassed at the outburst than Tim is.

"Fan of what?" Jason growls. He scrutinizes the figures before him. He knows there's plenty of people who drool over the billionaire playboy and his ward. And, he knows Tim is about as nerdy as possible, but for some reason he never pegged him as following high society gossip. Drooling over Stan Lee, sure, but the Waynes?

"I… I mean," Tim stammers. "I just mean, I was a big fan. You did a quadruple somersault for me in your trapeze act and I even have a photo I took with you." Jason heard about that. He's pretty sure everyone in Gotham knew about it. For some reason, though, he never connected Tim's nightmare and traumatic experience to the Flying Graysons.

Dick blinks. "You were there that night?"

Tim nods. "Yeah. I was only three, but…" His eyes dart from Jason who seems just as curious to his dad taking the opportunity to draw Bruce's attention away.

Dick grins blindingly and practically coos. "I've got a fan!" Tim is only half listening. His attention is split between the object of his admiration and his dad and Bruce.

"I was sorry to hear about your company." Bruce says, offering Jack and Catherine a drink.

Dick sighs. "I guess they're going to be a while." He eyes the adults as well and Tim knows how that feels. He wants to apologize on behalf of his father.

"You think you got the rough end of the deal?" Jason snaps. And, okay, it's not entirely fair to take it all out on richy rich. "We're supposed to be celebrating bird brain's birthday." He elbows Tim who is still bright red.

Dick's face contorts. "Man, that sucks. Sorry."

"It's fine." Tim shrugs. Dick looks as upset as Jason is mad. They grab some seats. Jason begrudgingly admits to himself, it is a much better seat. He'd never say it out loud, though. His mother is too busy apologizing profusely to appreciate it, so he snatches Tim's camera and snaps a picture. Then he turns it to Tim and Dick. "Smile, suckers." It flashes and both turn. Jason laughs at the priceless expression on Tim's face. Dick still manages to take a perfect picture, even when caught off guard. Perfect toothy smile and all. It annoys him greatly.

"Hey!" Tim scrambles to try to get it back. "Give it back!"

Jason holds it out of reach. "What's a matter, pipsqueak? You can take pictures of everyone else, but no one can take a picture of you?" He clicks more photos with each attempt. When Tim all but tackles him, he tosses the camera to Dick, who catches it easily.

"Careful with that!" Tim cries, desperate to try and get it back. He and Jason wrestle around. A flash pauses both in their tracks and Dick is laughing just as hard as Jason.

"Timothy Drake." Jack snaps and Tim ducks his head, muttering an apology. Jason can only guess what he's reprimanding. Probably too happy. Jack would probably call it "too loud," "too rowdy," "too disruptive," "too childish." Catherine frowned, but didn't dare want to start something in the company of Bruce Wayne. She met eyes with Jason, apologies loud in the silence and competing with the pleading to not say anything. Jason looks away from her. He doesn't want her apologies, but he gives in to her silent request.

Dick quiets down, but turns back to Jason and Tim. He bypasses Tim's grabby hands and hands the camera back to Jason. "How about another one of just us for your birthday?"

"Really?" Tim's head flies between Jason and Dick. His eyes are wide and hopeful.

Dick puts his arm around Tim's shoulder and Tim is star struck. "Of course. After all, you are my biggest fan." He winks. Something about it doesn't seem fake to Jason. He really wants to hate him, but it's getting harder.

"Say cheese." They both grin at the camera. He's never seen Tim grin so wide, especially after a scolding from his dad.

Bruce suggests having a bite of the spread available on the back table and watching the end of the game. Jason sees through this, too, but Tim takes it as a reprimand, as well. "Yes, sir." Tim is quick as he is quiet to get off the floor and help himself to some of the fruit platter. The adults go back to talking.

The three of them settle down to watch the game. Tim sets the camera down on the table. Dick breaks the silence. "You seem to take really good pictures." Both Jason and Tim look over to find Dick flipping through the photos. He turns it so they both can see the photo of Catherine and Jason. There's something almost sad about the look in his eyes when he stares at it. He shakes it off quickly, though. "Anyway, you've got talent."

Tim blushes and mutters a "thanks."

Jason follows Bruce's suggestion liberally, helping himself to heaping plates. "You should see his photos of…" Tim shoves a strawberry in his mouth and laughs as Jason sputters.

"Well, a place like this lends itself to photos." Tim shrugs. He sits back, oddly appearing relaxed. When Jason looks closer, though, he can see the slight shake to his leg.

"You know," He flips through his photos and says absently, "I always thought it would be fun to have photos at the galas and charity events I used to go to with my parents." He peers up at Dick with a small smile. It looks a little mischievous to Jason. He's up to something. "Not like the media or newspapers, but to preserve for history and memory."

Dick nods, considering what he just said. "Yeah, I know what you mean. That's actually a great idea. You wouldn't happen to be available for the upcoming gala next week. I know it's short notice, but you really are good and the pay is decent."

"We're available."

"Wait." Jason sits up. "What do you mean 'we'?"

"Jason's good at carrying things."

"Hey!" Jason protests.

"Alfred could always use more help in the kitchen. And we could always use more servers."

"Now wait just a minute!" Jason cries.

"Sounds good." Tim puts out his hand. Dick shakes it. "It's a deal."

Jason looks up at that moment to find their fathers in a similar position. It makes him stop mid-protest. His mother looks greatly unhappy and even more uncomfortable. Something about it unsettles Jason. He can't put his finger on why, though.

There's one more inning to go. The score is tied. It could be anyone's game. "Well, we won't take anymore of your time." Jack says and Tim's on his feet. Jason turns his head to the side, eyes questioning his mother who is in a similar state, but eyes on Jack.

"Thanks for the gig. We had a great time." Tim says as he pulls Jason to his feet, too. It's then that Catherine gets the cue and stands up, expressing gratitude and more apologies.

"Hey, anytime." Dick waves goodbye. "And happy birthday."

Instead of steering them back toward their seats for the end, Jack leads everyone out of the stadium and to the car. Jason can't tell if Tim is just excited about roping them into a paying gig or hiding his disappointment. It does little to quell his own anger about everything, including now having to work as a server in some mansion. Catherine is not pleased with the turn of events in the least.

"With a game like that no one really needs to see the end of the game." Jack tells them. "Everybody already knows how it will end." By now, Jason is good at speaking "jack-ass," as he calls it. What he really means is he got what he came for and there is no more reason to stay.

"Happy birthday, Tim," Jason mutters to the window.


	10. Chapter 10

It takes quite a bit of bus fare, which Jason is quite vocal about. Throughout the entirety of the walk to the bus stop, the wait, the ride to the neighborhood, the long walk up to the front door, and the wait until the doorbell is answered, Jason rants. Tim takes it all in stride, limiting his eye rolls and long suffering sighs. They are dressed to the nines, as Catherine described them before insisting on a few dozen photos. Jason had face palmed and Tim is still trying to figure out if it is something most mothers would have done.

The door opens and even with the inside in the process of being decorated, it stops Jason midsentence. Even with the old butler in the doorway obscuring the view, the two boys can see enough for Jason to marvel. Their whole apartment could fit in the front foyer alone. Mouth gaping open, Jason takes a step back and looks up to inspect the outside. "Holy crap, Tim!"

Tim shoots him a look. "Language. You can't talk that way here."

Jason returns it, but the butler breaks in before he has a chance to open his mouth. "Indeed our home is quite impressive, young sirs." The British accent throws him a second time. He shoots a second look at Tim, who rolls his eyes once more. "Now, if you don't mind, I do believe we are behind schedule. Come along."

Tim blushes and rubs the back of his neck. "Yes, sir. Sorry about that. The bus was a bit late." A bit is an understatement. He follows as the butler leads them into the house, and he has to constantly tug Jason along after him.

"Seriously, man," Jason stops once more to gape at the crystal chandelier and elbows Tim hard enough to leave a bruise. "You could've warned me! You call this a Manor, it's a freaking castle!"

"I could've warned you if I could've gotten a word in edgewise." Tim tugs him along, hard enough to ensure Jason will have matching bruises. "By the way, we're sure to make enough to cover bus fare both ways. And, you can stop looking at the place like it's the freakshow at the carnival."

"I never had enough money to see a carnival." Jason gripes, rubbing his arm when Tim finally lets him go.

The butler leads them to the kitchen and instructs them in their individual jobs. Neither Tim nor Jason notice him watching them closely as they linger over the trays of food, hungrily. Their fridge and cabinets are stocked thanks to the tire heist, but it's been a while since Tim has seen food of this quantity, let alone quality and homemade. Jason has never even dreamed of food like this, which is saying something since he's dreamt of feasts that put Henry VIII to shame.

It's not much longer before guests start arriving in dresses as ornate as the rooms they soon occupy. Jason's not even sure he has enough money to be in the same room as dresses like that. And, with all those diamonds being flaunted, his fingers ache and his hands shake, wanting nothing more than to relieve their dainty wrists and fingers of rocks that heavy.

Something about the whole thing makes his stomach twist and his throat go dry. It's all right there, right in front of him. He made a promise to Tim, but it would be so easy. And, if he were to be honest, dresses and diamonds like that were more worthy of the likes of his mother, someone who spent her life slaving away and paying since birth for having no money. And, with a job like his, it would be no problem to get close enough.

A tray is shoved into his hands and suddenly, his fingers stop itching, but he still licks his quickly drying lips. Because, there's no shadows to sneak around in or dark alleys to run into. This isn't the hard streets he's known since he was a kid. It's like he's on center stage about to perform, but nobody bothered to give him his lines. He's had no time to rehearse.

He catches his reflection in the empty tray. This isn't him. The tie is too tight and the suit is uncomfortable and he'd really rather be anywhere else but here. He tucks the tray under his arm to loosen the fabric.

Tim hits his hands out of the way, straightens his tie, smooths out his shirt, and pulls the tray out from his arm pit. "You can't do that." Tim tells him, not meeting his eye. He's getting tired of being told what he cannot do. Something's off about Tim, but he can't put his finger on it. "People have to eat off that tray. Here." He hands it back and starts arranging food on it carefully. "Don't take off the gloves. Anybody asks, you're the one who filled the tray." He looks up for a second and that's when Jason realizes it. .

His face in blank and he straightens his spine, shoulder's back, a miniature version of all the fancy gentlemen. He melts into the socialite masses like it's nothing. The suit fits Tim in a way it could never fit Jason. "It's easy." Tim tells him, voice as fake and distant as his eyes. It reminds him too much of Jack and, Jason shudders at the comparison. "You don't even have to speak. Just offer the tray," he mimics the servers he's seen at past events, "they might or might not take one. And then you go to the next group."

Jason swallows hard. "How much are they paying us again?"

"We'll be covered for a little bit. The Waynes pay well. Trust me. They're not stingy."

"Not like the Drakes." Jason mutters.

Tim pushes him out into the room. "Just get in there."

Jason glances down at the tray and back up at the waves of buzz coming from high society gossip. Of all the things Jason has done for money, never in a million years would he ever have guessed he'd wind up here. He glances back into the kitchen where Tim motions for him to go and looks nervously over to where the butler has disappeared. He understands being nervous over the old guy. He's not sure how, but he's pretty sure the butler can see and knows everything, even without being in the same room.

"Er," he watches as another server gracefully balances a tray of champagne glasses in one hand, other hand behind his back. He bends slightly. One takes a glass without as much as a glance in the server's direction. The other waves a dismissive hand. He's torn between being annoyed and grateful for being so easily ignored.

He tries to mimic the professional hold. The tray tips one way and another, he scrambles with it, sure it will all topple over. He'll drop the tray in front of everyone, ruin some of the food, all of which could be used to feed actually hungry people, and entirely lose out on a job, that if he's honest with himself they could really use. Not to mention the embarrassment. It happens in less than a minute. The snacks begin to slide and he can see the reporters and other media outlets close by. And, that's all he needs; embarrassment to be not only preserved but shown to the whole of Gotham.

"Hey, these are the custard tarts, aren't they?" Like magic the tray is balanced in his hand. He looks over to find Dick Grayson with a dazzling smile, though a little forced around the edges. He holds the other side of the tray and helps himself. "Man, these are the best." He lowers his voice. "Don't bother with the ladies in the corner. And, don't worry about the way you carry the tray. As long as the food gets to them they won't really notice, except maybe Alfred." He nods to the British Butler. "But, don't worry about him. There's more scandal from the crowd itself to keep them occupied rather than worrying if someone doesn't carry a tray right. Do your best and that's all that matters." There's sincerity in his voice that confuses Jason.

Everyone is fake here. Even Dick puts on an act. But there are these cracks in the masks he chooses to wear. He sees it with Tim, too. And, it doesn't make sense. He hates things this superficial. But, it's hard to hate Dick, and even harder to hate Tim. "What makes you think I need your help?" He snatches the tray away. "I've probably had more jobs than you."

"I just figured some pointers would help." Dick takes a step back, hands raised. "I remember what the first time was like." He turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd. Jason can still hear the ladies ogling and praising him. It isn't until he's sure that the Dickhead is too distracted to notice that he carefully holds the tray in two hands. What does the ward of a billionaire know anyway? He eats up all the attention. Frankly, Jason doesn't trust him as far as he can throw him.

It's something he learned early. Always be on the good side of the employers, but be ready with a trick up your sleeve in case. Just wants to help him, don't make him laugh.

He finishes off one tray, occasionally getting a glimpse of Tim. Jason has never realized quite how invisible the kid could be in a crowded room. He goes almost as unnoticed as the servers, if it were not for the rude snapping of fingers and demands for a fresh drink. Being called "boy" on more than one occasion made him grit his teeth. If not for the money, they would've had their expensive champagne dunked on them and he'd tell them exactly where they could shove their caviar.

Jason slams the tray down on the counter, the champagne glasses shaking and clinking. "This was your genius idea? I get shown more respect from lifting tires. And that last heist paid more than this."

"Careful with those." Tim hisses. "I'm pretty sure there's a break it you buy it policy and one of those glasses alone could probably cover rent. And your previous jobs are probably not something you want to announce to the whole party."

Jason lowers his voice, whining. "This is degrading."

Tim levels him with a look. "We have a deal. This is part of the agreement. And as you so loudly pointed out we already have the money from the last tire heist. What we make now is a cushion for the time being. If we save up carefully…"

"Don't tell me how to handle money." Jason snaps, tugging at his tie. "I've been handling money twice as long as you have had a trust fund."

"Then you know this is a good gig. The wages are decent."

"Not for making me wear a monkey suit."

"Quit messing with the tie." Tim bats his hands away to fix it.

"It's too tight," he whines.

"You're such a baby."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you bird brain?"

"Immensely." Tim flashes him a smile and heads back out with his camera ready.

Fortunately for Jason, who clearly has had enough, Alfred stands nearby and suggests a change of scenery. "After all, young sir, I require some assistance in the kitchen, if you would be so kind."

In the kitchen, Alfred has deemed him the official chef's assistant and taste tester. The former being he helps retrieve all needed ingredients and the latter being self explanatory. "Seriously," Jason eyes him and the offered spoon suspiciously.

The old English butler sniffed. "We must test the food before we put it out, of course. It must be up to standards."

Perhaps, Jason concedes to himself, the job isn't so bad after all, even if he has to wear a monkey suit.

* * *

"My how the mighty have fallen." Tim turns with a start to find some of his old classmates. The smirks they wear are smugger than he remembers. "If it isn't Drake. Tell us, how does it feel to go from having everything to having absolutely nothing." The group broke out in laughter.

Dick moves to intervene. His arm is quick around Tim's shoulders, but before he can open his mouth, Tim beats him to it. There's a dangerous glint to his eye and a small smile that is friendly at first look, but challenging around the edges. "Funny you should mention that." His tone is calm and controlled, as though nothing they could say would touch him. "Not as bad as having to repeat the same grade twice. At least you have enough money to bribe the teacher or was it the whole of the school board to let you pass the third time." The glass in the classmate's hand is close to shattering.

"Hey, Timmy, I was wondering if I could borrow you for a moment." Dick carefully steers him away from the group. He has to bite his lip to keep from laughing because the face of Tim's opponent is priceless. Though, he is curious about how he knows all that.

Tim shrugs. "Knowledge is power."

It doesn't quite answer his question. Dick starts to wonder how many secrets the kid has. He knows what it's like to have to keep secrets. He also knows the difficulty in having to deal with bullies and classmates alike. He really has to hand it to the kid, though. He takes it all in stride. It's like he's born for these types of events.

"Remind me not to piss you off." Dick laughs.

He steers the kid to where Bruce is currently being fawned over. He's playing the Brucie act well. Tim rolls his eyes at the Brucie laugh, though. Dick agrees with the sentiment. "Hey, Bruce," Dick manages to break him away from his long line of suitors. "Photo time. You've ducked out of it all night. You aren't getting away this time. Sorry ladies."

Some look exasperated while some feign amusement. It's enough to get Bruce to agree, if only to get away from them. Bruce puts down his drink, greets Tim, and poses with a sigh. "I don't understand your insistence, Dick. We already posed for multiple newspapers. Wasn't that suffering enough?"

"Quit complainging." Dick jabs him with an elbow. "And, geez, B, you could try to look like you're having a good time. This is different, right, Tim?"

Bruce raises an eyebrow at Tim. "I'm not really one for staged photos." He fiddles with his camera. Being in the presence of Bruce makes him extremely uncomfortable. "All the best photos aren't."

"Let's just get this over with." Bruce frowns, side-eyeing Dick.

Tim nods in agreement. "Say cheese!" It triggers something for Bruce. He looks struck at the realization and he suddenly is reexamining his ward's tiny new friend.

"Smile, Bruce, it won't kill you," Dick mutters through his smile.

So, Bruce does. His classic Brucie grin. Tim takes the picture, but he has a feeling it's not what Dick was looking for. He frowns down at it, wondering what he could do to make it look better. It doesn't look right. He wonders if the capes and masks and cowls would make it better, but he doubts it. For a moment he spot his own reflection in the view screen and frowns.

"Now, you can take one of me on the chandelier!" Dick proclaims.

"Dick," Bruce warns. But there's something warm about the way he looks at his ward. It isn't exactly a smile or anything close, but it's a fondness Tim has only seen with Catherine and Jason. Before he can help it, he lifts the camera.

The flash stops Bruce and Dick. They both look over at Tim and he blushes, mutters an apology, and quickly gets lost in the party. When he's a safe distance away and sure he's as invisible as possible, he spares a glance at it. And, that, he smiles, is the best photo of the night.

* * *

The night comes to a close, and people start to leave. The first is a very old couple. They make it about as far as their car and Tim beckons Jason over. "What?" Jason grumbles. Tim holds up a finger. Jason folds his arms and mutters. They can hear the car start up. The engine sounds old and neglected. It coughs and sputters. "Damn," Jason shakes his head. "That sounds terrible." He speaks of it like a doctor would a bad cough.

The couple reenters. The old man has worse obscenities, enough to make Jason blush. Everyone has something to say. There's talk of a tow truck or calling a mechanic. "A tow truck?" The old man hollers. "A mechanic? You know how much those will cost? You know how much they'll cheat us out of?"

"We've got money, you old coot!" His wife shrills. Jason has to stop himself from snickering. It's amusing and he wishes he had some popcorn to enjoy the show.

Tim elbows him and shoots him a cross look. "The man's a bit of a Scrooge when it comes to his bank account," he whispers. Then, Tim says louder so the whole room can hear him, "Jason's pretty good with cars."

There's much skepticism, even from Jason. "What?" He sputters, shooting daggers at Tim. What the hell is the kid thinking?

"A kid?" The old man grouches. "Work on my prized antique beauty?" He laughs at such an idea. A few people join in.

Jason's face turns red. Tim isn't sure if it is embarrassment or fury. Either way, he knows Jason is not only up for it but wanting to rub it in all of their faces. "He'll do it no charge."

"What do you have to lose?" Dick jumps in to help. Jason wants to snap at Dick to shut up.

The old man considers it. "Fine," he relented. "But, if you hurt her, I'll…"

Jason rolls up his sleeves. "Sure," he dismisses. He enjoys the reversal of roles. For the first time of the entire night, it feels like he holds the power. "Just get me my tools and lead the way."

Alfred fetches some tools and it becomes a spectacle. Everyone gathers around the car and Jason goes to work. He goes to town on the thing and for a while it seems the entire world melts away. There's nothing but him and the car. He throws some comments out, grumbling about all the money they probably wasted on mechanics that know nothing but cheat them anyway. The engine is despicable as are the state of a few other parts, but it's well enough to at least get them home.

He wipes his hand on a rag and that's that. It run smoother than it has in anyone's working memory and the crowd marvels. Tim helps himself to a few photos. The old man is impressed, as is Bruce who is standing off to the side. And, the old man offers him a job, because after all maybe Jason could make sense of the other cars in his vintage car collection. Jason instantly accepts, if not for having a steady customer, than for the opportunity to work with cars like those.

"This was all part of your evil plan, wasn't it, bird brain?" Jason mutters under his breath to Tim who is grinning proudly as though he was the one to get the car running.

"If you stopped griping about the tie, I might have been able to give you a heads up."

"How'd you know?"

Tim simply grins wider at him. "I figured if you were that good at taking cars apart, you would probably know a thing or two about putting them together. And, they go through this almost every gala."

Everyone else leaves and it's just them, the Waynes, Alfred, and the final employees taking down the decorations. Even without them, the place is a sight. Jason can't help but stare. Alfred shoves containers into both their hands. "What's this?" Jason demands. Tim looks just as confused.

"There is far too much food and I'm afraid we've maxed out the space in our fridge. After all, young sirs, you did seem to enjoy those tarts. Consider it thanks for all of your help."

They blink up at the British butler. "And, I do believe it is much too late for you to be wandering the streets alone."

"We'll be fine." Jason tells him. Tim nods. Alfred raises an eyebrow and they have a feeling it was not so much a suggestion as much as a statement. "We'll just grab our coats." Jason goes to grab them while Tim thanks Alfred.

"Before you go," Bruce stops them and digs out his wallet. "Quite impressive work you did on the car, Jason." Jason nods and Tim shifts uncomfortably. "I wonder where you learned it."

"I picked a few things up." Jason mutters, hands shoved in his pockets. He feels a bit more comfortable with his sleeves rolled up, grease still staining his hands, and the tie hanging around his neck. It also helps that most have left for the night at Bruce and Dick look about the same, minus the grease on the hands.

Bruce hums in acknowledgement. "I'm sure you did." He pulls out a stack of bills and hands it to Jason, then turns to Tim. "And, you seem to enjoy photography."

Tim's throat goes dry, but he manages to nod. He clutches the camera to him tightly and tries to convince himself there's no way the billionaire knows. He wants to smack himself for being so stupid. He's going up against the world's greatest detective. What did he think was going to happen?

"He's talented, too!" Dick pipes up. And, oh, how that is not helping his case in the least.

"I look forward to seeing the photos from tonight then." Bruce says amiably as he hands more money to Tim. "Thank you for your help tonight. Tell your parents I said hi and that I look forward to that meeting with you father." Tim and Jason exchanged a confused look. "Have a good night."


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Nothing like five days in the ER with a loved one to get you writing. What is with hospitals being so cold? And why are the chairs so uncomfortable? Anyway, I hope the quality is alright. I didn't have much sleep over the five days I was writing this. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"You sure we should be letting an old man drive alone?" Despite the smile intended to be taken as a jibe, there was sincerity behind his eyes. He has grown to like Alfred for the small amount of time he helped him in the kitchen. Though, he still scares him a bit. It is the omnipotent element. He still can't get over this fancy of a car in this side of town. Doesn't he know the streets are crawling with eager and shameless criminals?

"I assure you my eyesight is 20/20, young sir." Alfred replies haughtily as though to suggest anything contrary is absurd. "And my driving is impeccable."

Tim absently flips through his photos, trying to figure out if Bruce Wayne really know or if he is just reading too much into it. He isn't a bad liar. And, honestly, there isn't any lying anyway. The lying begins when accusations start to fly. The question now is if it would.

"After all," Alfred continues, eyes glue to Tim. "No one would dare steal from the likes of me."

Both Tim and Jason gulp. Tim wonders what Jason has to fear. He can't have figured out the connection. "You read my record?" Jason's eyes grow big and he looks away.

"Proper hiring procedure." Alfred explains. His eyes flicker to Jason riding shot gun. "While I do not condone such acts," Tim marvels at how red Jason's face becomes and how far down he ducks it, "One can admire a talent for automobiles when applied honestly." Jason peeks up and Tim swears he sees the hints of a proud grin.

It makes him stop and wonder how often, if ever, Jason is praised for something like a talent or gift. He peers down at his camera. It is a photo he snapped of them earlier. The old butler looks fond more than anything. That's when he decides he'll make some extra copies free of cost.

"If you knew why would you hire me?" Jason asks. "Bird brain over here, sure." He jabs his thumb in Tim's direction. "But me?"

"Master Richard insisted." Alfred tells them truthfully. "He was very excited about your photography idea, Timothy, and he saw something in you Jason. Now, I must say, I do as well."

He pulls up to their crumbling apartment. It pales severely in comparison to the car. "Shall I walk you up?"

"No! No, need." Jason answers quickly.

"If you insist." Alfred waits until they are up the stairs before he drives away. Tim gives Jason a questioning look.

"What?" He snaps. The now wrinkled suit and tie that hangs loose around his neck feels even more out of place. Tim, he realizes, somehow still seems to fit. He wipes his sweaty hands on his pant leg. How can he explain it feels like a lie and how terrified he is their apartment will shatter whatever image, however fragile it might be, that the old man has of him.

Those thoughts are interrupted by a bombardment of shouts radiating through the door. Tim drops his hand and takes a step back. He looks about ready to run. Jason pushes him out of the way and marches inside.

"It was supposed to be for his birthday." Catherine shouts.

Tim pales, still frozen in the doorway. He wants to tell them it is fine, but his voice gets lost in the yelling. What he says rarely makes a difference anyway.

"And it was. It was a birthday present. We went for his birthday…" Jack seems affronted by the accusation.

"Until you made it about you and that Bruce Wayne, anything but him! You weren't even there half the time!"

"He had fun! You were the one who suggested some time with him!"

"Doing something he actually likes, I meant! Did you ever try that? Did it ever even cross your mind?"

"What? You expect me to do something as ridiculous as…" He waves a vague and an all encompassing hand.

Tim isn't sure what hurt more. His father thinking whatever he might be interested in is ridiculous or not even knowing what he is interested in.

Jason moves to break between the two of them and protect his mother. Remembering how well that worked before, Tim slams the door. Both Catherine and Jack look toward the two boys, one fuming and the other flushed. They blink in surprise. Catherine turns to check the time on the microwave as Jack checks his watch.

"Well," Jack clears his throat. "I'm late." For what, is the unasked question in the silence. Jason is sure it has to dowith blowing money they could use.

"Don't start," Catherine warns her son. Jason bites his tongue. It's clear his mother already had quite the night. Unfortunately for Tim, Jason can never keep his mouth closed about topics like that for long. He's not looking forward to the rant that is sure to take the place of "good night." Tim's just frustrated that no matter what happens, it ends the same. Jack walks out and Tim's left on the opposite side of the door.

"Want to taste something delicious?" Tim offers a container of the some of the leftovers. It's some type of mini quiche. Distraction is key. Jason, for all his complaining, had a good night, all in all. Tim would like to keep it that way. And, Catherine would gladly accept any opportunity to play doting mother. "Jason helped make them!"

She examines the perfect tart and a smile grows with each new discovery; appearance, scent, and especially taste. "Oh, baby, that's wonderful! Quite the culinary expert!"

Tim has never seen Jason grin so much in one night. "Try this one, too! You'll like this one best!" Jason eagerly opens another container and Catherine happily obliges. Neither notice the flash of the camera.

There was once Tim remembers something similar with Janet. It's but a faint memory and he knows it includes fossils. He thinks the roles might have been reversed. He wishes it was more tangible.

And, as Jason treats his mother to a feast he feels worthy of her, Tim can't help but stare at the closed door.

...

The room smells of chemicals. It is just the two of them in the school's photography club makeshift dark room. Turns out the kid has some pull with teachers. They find him intelligent and charming. Jason would like to argue that point but Tim did manage to convince him to step foot in the school. A feat in itself where most are concerned. Since the day he dropped out he avoided the place like the plague. And, though he especially doesn't like the idea of leaving his mother alone in the house, at least she and the kid's old man still aren't speaking terms yet. He is sure that will change soon with him and Tim out of the way.

"Think you could speed this up a bit?" He drummed his fingers on the desk. The look it earns him is incredibly satisfying.

"I offer quality, Jason." Tim hangs up another photo, examining his work carefully. "And quality takes time."

"Perfectionist," Jason groans. Though, depending on who you ask he's not one to talk. Tim could have at least given him warning and a decent book. Despite his complaining and eagerness to return home, he has to admit the whole process is pretty cool. Jack doesn't know what he's talking about. But, he considers while he watches Tim for a moment that is the problem. Jack doesn't know or want to know the first thing about his own son. He understood the difficulty Catherine has with the very idea. It is the same problem he has with it and he is his mother's son. Still, there is this feeling of separation, for Jason at least. Tim isn't her son. If only for her sake, she doesn't need the stress. He covers that area enough for the both of them. Jack and Tim are the last thing she needs.

"You know," Tim ventures hesitantly, eyes never leaving his work, "This school also has an auto club. It's an elective so it counts as credits."

"You don't say," Jason kicks his feet up on a desk and settles in. They're probably going to be here for a while.

"And the teacher for it is decent. There are a few decent teachers here, too."

Jason scoffs. "I know what you're doing," he warns instead. Like hell will he be manipulated by the kid again, even if it works out for him in the end. He hates feeling like the pawn in someone else's game of chess. So few things in his life are in his control. It will take a great deal for him to relinquish what little he has.

Tim shrugs, "I'm just saying there are some here who honestly care."

"What makes you think I want some fresh from college full of idealism half-brain on a save-all-the-poor kids crusade to stick their nose in my business?"

"Speaking from experience?" Tim frowns at him.

Jason laughs humorously. "You clearly forgot from all my records you hacked into that I went here. And no apple-eating ruler-bearing teacher ever had a clue."

"Have you ever tried?" Tim asked.

"You go around chatting your teachers up about all your problems?" Jason raises an eyebrow. It is intended and taken as a challenge, but Jason can't deny a little curiosity as well. He doesn't think the kid would willingly talk about much. Tim looks away. "That's what I thought. Pot meets kettle."

That is supposed to be the end of it. Jason thinks he makes it clear that the conversation is over. But, Tim has other thoughts on the matter. Jason suddenly reevaluates his previous description of "intelligent."

"It is part of the deal," Tim glares at him. Jason sighs heavily. "I held up my end of the bargain. I've got us solid with finances for a little while at least." It feels like bragging, and it burns for Jason, but he knows better. It is a fact, like stating the sky is blue. Either way, he can't go back on a deal. He might believe in fighting dirty and even twisting words, but Jason Peter Todd is a man of his word.

"Find me a decent school. One not run down and with a library that actually has more of the Bronte sisters than Wuthering Heights."

Tim looks surprised and blinks at Jason. "Seriously?"

"What?" Jason asks affronted. "I read. And contrary to common belief Jane Eyre trumps all other Brontes. Little Women is a close second."

"I mean you'll go? Without a fight?"

"Yeah, sure." Jason agrees. "But I reserve the right to complain."

"When don't you?" Tim mutters. He says louder for Jason to hear, "Didn't peg you as invested in your education."

Jason sits up with a scowl at him. There is so much he wants to say. But he doesn't have to defend his decision to some rich kid who only got a taste of understanding. "Wasn't worth it in a school like this, you arrogant asshole. You know where an education here will get you? Behind bars, working a drive thru, or dead. We all weren't lucky enough to have daddy's money get us into prestigious boarding school."

"Right." Tim finishes up quietly, hiding his reddening face. "Sorry."

...

Jason is still a bit sore about Tim's earlier comments. This results in a quiet bus ride across town. He's itching to get home. His mother hasn't been alone that long since she got better. He likes to think his presence helps.

He has a plan. Toss the photos at the Wayne's, grab the money, and get an instance bus. One that doesn't stop every other block. Of course, it doesn't go that way. Why would it? When does Jason Todd ever have that kind of luck?

First of the many obstacles is good old Alfred and his darn British formalities. Jason is sure a lack of manners will result in being struck down by lightening, or worse, the look of disapproval. He isn't sure why it carries the weight it did for him. Other than his mother, he doesn't care what someone else thinks.

"Master Jason. Master Timothy. A pleasure to see you both. Come on in." He held the door open wide and let them pass.

He wants to tell them they are just dropping off a delivery and they really should be on their way. But, he finds himself in the foyer, gaping at the crystal chandelier. Tim seems all too eager to step foot in the manor again. The little nerd isn't kidding when he says he's a fan.

On the other hand, Jason could understand the sentiment. Every extra moment spent here prolongs the inevitable return back home. It is a moment in warmth and that smells of a busy oven and a little escape at the cost of bus fare and a few blocks walk. He needs to get home to his mom, but the last thing the kid needs is to go home to another argument about him. Not that he will ever voice it. As much as Tim's eyes light up, he remains professional and business-like. That's when Dick decides to make his grand entrance. Sliding down the banister with a laugh and a matching grin to follow, he sticks a perfect landing at the bottom. "Timmy! Jay! Long time no see!" Both pulled faces at the nicknames and simultaneously made a mental note to use them against each other.

Alfred shot him a disapproving look. "The stairs are there for a reason, young master." Both Tim and Jason flinch at the reprimand. Dick merely flashes an innocent grin, but has the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry, Alf." He shrugs. "But you know what they say! You can take the kid out of the circus, but you can't take the circus out of the kid." Alfred is thoroughly unamused. "I'll stick with the stairs next time." Dick promises.

"See that you do." Alfred leads them further into the house. "And do know I mean walking on your feet, not your hands."

"Aw! But that's half the fun!" Dick protests.

"Where's Bruce?" Not that the little spat isn't fun, but he really would appreciate getting the show on the road.

Tim elbows him sharply. "I mean Mr. Wayne?" He forgot. This is all business. Tim simply rolls his eyes and exaggerates a shrug.

"He had something to take care of at the company. Emergency meeting or something." Dick explains, helping himself to a tray of cooling cookies. Alfred hits his greedy hands out of the way and Dick feigns a wounded look. The tray is held out expectantly to the two guests. And no one can say no Alfred or his cookies.

"We wouldn't want to intrude." Tim practices his politeness while shoving the cookie in his mouth like he hasn't eaten in a week. Crumbs litter his shirt and the counter. He rubs his mouth on his sleeve.

"Do use a napkin, sir." He pushes one toward his youngest guest. Sheepishly, he obliges.

Jason fiddles with his own cookie. "We can come back." Please, let us go already, he thinks.

"He should be back soon," Dick told them. "No point in leaving only to come back again. I mean, you're already here and Bruce is really looking forward to those photos." Tim pauses mid chew. Did Dick know, too? The swirl of questions and self doubt returns only to be shoved to the back of his mind by a well placed elbow to the gut from Jason. After all, what possible evidence could Batman have on them?

"You up for a game while we wait?" Dick offers. That's when the two of them feast their eyes on a high-end, yet-to-be released game consol.

"Behold the god of all game consoles," Tim declares in awe.

"Am I drooling? I think I'm drooling!" Jason voices agreement.

"And look how shiny!" Tim caresses the machine. "I can see myself! Beautiful, beautiful machine!"

What could one game hurt? And, they are already there. It doesn't make sense to waste more bus fare.

One game turned into five or six. They lost track of time, laughing and shouting barbs at one another. At one point Alfred even pauses in washing the dishes to observe the three of them. They try to cheat, find short cuts, sabotage each other. Yet, even in the cries of injustice and frustration, they wear matching grins. In their own way, each boy has been forced to grow up too soon. Yet for this small amount of time they could be the kids they truly are.

By the time Bruce comes home- yes, Alfred, he knows he's late. You can stop looking at him that way- shoes and even socks are shed. Jason curls up in blankets, feet over the arm of the couch. Tim lays upside down, legs shooting straight up in the air against the back rest and head full of a messy mop of hair hanging where feet normally went. Dick perches on the back of the couch as if ready to spring from the excitement.

Dick pauses the game much to the protest of their two guests. "Hey, Bruce! Meeting run late?"

Both boys turn with a start. They quickly relinquish the controllers and Alfred is saddened to see how quickly the can transform back. Tim gives Dick a sympathetic look. Jason's attention is more transfixed to the clock. Suddenly, the world rests on all three sets of shoulders once more.

Bruce shakes his head. "A bit." Somehow Tim thinks they are communicating more than they are actually saying. Bat language, he thinks with a grin.

Jason's heart is beating through his ears. How could he be so foolish and irresponsible as to leave his mother alone longer than need be? If something happens, if there is a back slide, he doesn't know if she could ever forgive him. He doesn't think he would ever forgive himself. He is her lifeline. "Right. Well, now that you're here we should give you the photos and be on our way." Tim looks crestfallen, but they've indulged enough. What was that Greek myth with the lotus flowers? It is back to the real world.

"Of course. Sorry to keep you waiting." Bruce tears open one of the envelopes and appraises the work. "Fine work." Bruce praises and Tim practically gleams. Jason rolls his eyes.

"You truly captured some special moment," Alfred explores the second envelope. He stops at the photo of him and Jason cooking in the kitchen. Even in cooking, Alfred was neat which contrasted greatly to the swirl of chaos and creativity that was purely Jason. Eggs were laid in neat rows by flour that cover counter, cookie sheets, and arms.

"Hey, Bruce! Look at this one!" Dick thrusts the photo where Tim caught them off guard. Bruce stares at it fondly, the way Catherine sometimes looks at the photos he captures of her and Jason. Without a doubt, there is talent to be able to capture a moment like that. It hurts a bit, enough to want to buy more time before returning home. His fingers itch and he reaches by his neck, but his camera is out of film.

Even in the first envelope, photos full of nothing but the most superficial and fake, look sincere and genuine.

"There's more photos than I expected." Bruce can't take his eyes off the one of him and Dick.

"The second envelope are free of charge." All three of the Wayne household blink in surprise. Jason isn't thrilled by this idea in the least.

"You worked hard on these." Bruce held out the last of the money, plus a little more. Tim shakes his head about to argue that it is a gift, but Bruce insists. "Consider it a tip."

Jason snatches the money before anyone can say anything else on the matter. "Not that it hasn't been fun, but we got to go. Thanks again." He starts pushing Tim toward the door.

Bruce exchanges a look with Dick. "One more thing." Bruce stops them in their tracks.

"Of course!" Jason throws his hands in the air. They are so close. What else could possibly conspire to keep him from home? Tim becomes rigid. He can't out them without outing themselves, he tries to convince himself. Even if there is the possibility of Bruce knowing, he can't say anything.

"I won't take up much more of your time." Dick gestures to him. He walks over and hands them both yet another envelope.

"What's this?" Jason shoots him a suspicious look. Bruce looks almost proud about that.

Our arrest warrants, Tim thinks with a gulp.

Both open with caution. Another look of approval. Inside is an acceptance letter to Gotham Academy, one of the most prestigious schools in all of Gotham. "What's this?" Jason holds it away from him with two fingers. "You think this is a joke or something?"

"I think," Bruce remains calm in the face of Jason's growing anger, "you both show a lot of promise and talent. Gotham Academy has the resources to help harness it." Jason shoots Tim a withering look. Tim offers an unconvincing shrug.

"We don't want your charity." Jason snaps.

"Oh, it's not charity." The look in his eyes is not Brucie, but Batman. "You have to work hard to maintain your scholarships. You can't receive a C or lower. Nor a suspension. And, maybe it could offer a brighter future than your past business ventures." Tim chews his lip. But, the risk is worth the result.

Jason is going to decline and offer harangues about that final statement. What did the crowned prince of Gotham know anyway? It is on the tip of his tongue and written all over his face. Tim elbows him once more. "You promised." Jason grits his teeth. There's no getting out of it this time.

"Fine." Well played, Birdbrain, well played. But, never again, he swore to himself. Getting involved with Tim is inviting yourself into a sticky web. He hates being manipulated. He wonders if Bruce and Alfred and Dick ever realize how he plays them, too.

And, now he's stuck going to school with the richest of Gotham's elite and forced to wear yet another tie.


	12. Chapter 12

To say Jason felt like an idiot would be an understatement. He tugged at the tie, but it didn't relieve the suffocating feeling. His mother spent the entire morning gushing over the two of them and how adorable he looked. He was going more for a James Dean type of look. He already had the cigarette, but it was too late for his mother to retract the statement. And the constant flash of Tim's camera with the explicit instructions to Tim to make her copies only served to make him redder than James Dean's jacket in Rebel Without A Cause.

Now, though, standing among the sea of conformity and some sleek and shiny fancy stone he didn't know the name of, he gaped at his surroundings. "Fu-" he started, only to receive a sharp elbow to the gut and a look from Tim. He glared back. He might dress like them, but he'll be damned if he starts talking like them.

Not that either of those worked well. He thought things like uniforms would be an immediate way to fit in, but he stuck out like a sore thumb. He couldn't tell if it was his backpack held together by different colored thread, duct tape, and luck, or if there were some invisible flashing neon signs saying "Charity Case" and "Scholarship Kid" that everyone else could see but him. It was what they were all saying at least in pretend whispers and behind hands and school books.

Tim led the way to their locker and Jason kept his glare at his back. It was better than keeping his head down, staring at his shoes, or gaping at the graffiti-free walls or trying to see if they had a hunchback in their bell tower. He hated how easily Tim could melt into the crowds and become invisible. How he was not the center of everyone's attention and gossip. How nobody doubted whether or not Tim was meant to go there.

A book being shoved into his stomach broke him of his thoughts. "If you keep looking like that your face is going to freeze that way." Tim warned. There was a lack of the usual humor behind the statement. He sounded as on edge as Jason did, but it didn't show past his lowered voice.

"Shut up." Jason muttered, pushing Tim aside to shove his backpack in the shared space.

Tim rolled his eyes and started down the hall. "Whoa, whoa, hold up there!" Jason slammed their locker and raced after him. He snatched his wrist. "Where are you going?"

"Class," Tim said as though it were obvious. "The bells going to ring in a minute."

"What class?" Jason gritted his teeth, eying the other student who stared and whispered and went around them like Moses parting the red sea.

"Seriously, Jason, you didn't even look at the schedule?" Tim shoved a paper in his face. He grabbed the paper and stared at the list. Tim had History, room LW4. He had Math, room UE9. He flipped to a map. The school was two floors labeled as Lower and Upper, with four separate wings labeled as Cardinal Directions.

"That's on opposite sides of the campus." Jason groaned. Tim shrugged failing to see what the problem was. Jason wasn't even sure what the problem was. It just seemed like yet another reason to despise the whole situation.

"And we're going to be late." Tim stressed, snatching the paper away. "Look, we've got the same lunch at least and our sixth period classes are in the same wing."

"Fine." Jason muttered and took off in the opposite direction. "Whatever." Today was going to suck.

"Whatever," Tim agreed, heading to his own class.

* * *

Tim had to run to make it in time for his class. He flew through the door just as the teacher was about to lock it, making a grand entrance, enough to lose the invisibility he worked so hard to achieve. His teacher raised an eyebrow at him. "_Mr. Drake_, I take it," she greeted him dryly.

He handed her the paper he got from the office. "Sorry," he rubbed the back of his neck, flashing a sheepish smile. "Still getting the lay of the land." The students were immediately a hum of constant whispers and laughs.

She cleared her throat. "Well, now that you've got it, I hope to see you in here before the door closes and the final bell rings, _Mr. Drake_."

His eyes traced his audience and his face reddened. "Yes, ma'am. I'll just take a seat." He went to an empty chair, wishing the floor could swallow him up. He dropped his books to the top of his desk and his gaze to their covers. He was determined to be invisible once more.

The teacher locked the door. "Class, we have a new student." She gestured to him as though it wasn't glaringly obvious by now and he sunk further in his chair. "Timothy Drake. I'm sure he'll keep in mind for the future that punctuality is more important than a last name, isn't that correct, _Mr. Drake_?"

This might have been a mistake. He'd never admit it to Jason, but he was more than willing to admit it to himself. "Yes, ma'am." So much for invisibility.

"What was that, _Mr. Drake_?"

He cleared his voice and looked up at her. He met her eye for eye. "I said, that is correct, ma'am."

"And we will have no further disturbances because of you, I assume."

"You will not, ma'am."

"I thought so." She nodded and turned to the board to start her lessons. He followed along, diligently jotting down notes and following along in the book. For the most part, his classmates focused back on their lessons. If he could no longer be invisible to them, then he'd make them invisible to him.

When the bell rang, he was eager to gather his book and high-tail it to his next class. He was not going through that again. He didn't care if he had to scale the roof. As he stood up, a kid to his left whispered to his friend. "There's another charity case. My how the mighty have fallen." He met Tim's eye with an evil grin, ensuring Tim heard his every word.

The rest of the day had to be better than this, right?

* * *

Class already begun when Jason finally managed to find his class. He tried the handle, eager to rush to his seat and get the whole thing over with, but it was locked. This was just what he needed. Late on the first day. He was going to kill Tim for making him do this. He paced the hallway, trying to come up with a plan. He considered trying to pick the lock but was pretty sure that would be frowned upon, especially when he had an audience.

Out of ideas, he considered just heading to the boys bathroom for a smoke, if he could find it. But then he could lose the scholarship. And wouldn't that be a blessing? Still, he couldn't. He couldn't pinpoint why exactly, but it might have had something to do with the excitement and pride on his mother's face when they told her. Or it could've been his deal with the kid. Regardless of how much the kid might revel in his torture, because why else would he make this part of the agreement, he wasn't one to go back on his word. The manipulative bastard probably knew that, too.

Finally, he knocked on the glass. The door opened to a very stiff and unimpressed looking gentleman. His nose turned up in the air, he let out a huff. "Yes?" He asked impatiently.

"I'm here for class." Jason shrugged his backpack higher on his shoulder. "UE9, right?"

The teacher made a show of checking his watch. "Class begins at exactly 8:00. The doors are locked at 8:01. If you are not in the room and in your seat before 8:01, you may not attend class that day."

Jason's brow furrowed. "It's my first day here."

"And it is also 8:05."

"Thanks." Jason rolled his eyes. "I can read a clock."

"Well, I also assume you can read a map, such as one you should have obtained in the office upon your arrival, and numbers, such as the ones above the door." The teacher matched his sarcasm perfectly. "Otherwise you might be looking for a more remedial math."

"But…" Jason gritted his teeth.

"These are my rules." The teacher told him as though there was nothing he could do about.

"Are the written in stone or something? I didn't know. It won't happen again."

"I do not accept excuses. You are here now and, regardless of where you might have come from, I am going to hold you to the same standards. If it is too much of a challenge for you here, perhaps this school isn't for you." With that he turned back into the classroom.

Jason dropped his backpack to the tile floor. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" His only answer was the door shutting behind the teacher and the click of the lock.

Well, screw him, Jason thought. And screw the school. If he didn't think Jason could handle this school, he'd prove him wrong. He set off down the hall looking for his second class. He'd be early this time. The first one in his seat.

* * *

Tim sat at an abandoned lunch table. He took a thoughtful bite of a tater tot as he leaned his seat back and studied the map. If everything else about the day sucked, at least their lunch was good. Man, did he love tater tots. Jason dropped his tray to the table, letting his milk spill and fell into his chair, groaning. He loosened his tie, but even that didn't get the kid's attention.

"Remind me again why we're doing this, birdbrain?" He ignored the looks and whispers he received from the other tables. "I don't know about you, but my day sucks."

Tim started to respond, but Jason made a face. "Ugh, that's gross man. Don't talk with your mouth open. Aren't you rich kids taught manners or are you above all that?" Tim rolled his eyes and finished chewing. "You looked like a chipmunk!"

"I said, shut up because I'm working on the best route to my classes." He pulled a pen out from behind his ear and started marking up the map.

"Speaking of," Jason took a bite of his sandwich and tried to act like it was no big deal, "an absent on the first day of school isn't that big of a deal, right?"

"You skipped class!" Tim shouted, earning more looks and whispers.

"Just assume why don't you!"

"Fine, then what happened?"

"I couldn't find the place! I was a few minutes late and the guy wouldn't let me in! It wasn't my fault!"

Tim didn't mention a minute later and he'd be in the same boat. "It's probably fine." They both returned to eating in silence. "We could talk to Dick about it, just to be sure." Tim suggested. Jason hated the idea, but nodded in agreement.

* * *

They had an agreement to meet up at their locker at the end of the day. Jason shifted his backpack onto his other shoulder. By now, his back was growing stiff under all the weight. This was something else he hadn't missed about school. According to his teachers, he had a substantial amount to catch up on added to all the studying he was expected to accomplish that night alone.

How the hell did the kid expect him to be able to go to school full time plus support their families? Though the money they had from their recent jobs offer some security, it wouldn't last long. Too much was riding on a rather unpleasant experience. The only upside was the day would end at some point and at least his mother was happy.

He checked his watch once more. If they missed their bus and had to walk home, he was going to kill Tim. A slow and painful death, he plotted, finally dropping his backpack and giving his shoulders and back the much needed break.

He read for pleasure. He was sure he could catch up, not matter what those bastards thought. He gritted his teeth as the math teacher's words came to mind "where you might have come from." "And what rock did you crawl out of?" Jason muttered to himself.

"Let's go." Tim stalked passed him, hiking his back pack further up his shoulder.

"Hey," Jason caught up to him and spun him around. "Nice of you to join me. Where the hell were you? Class ended a half hour ago?"

Tim leveled him with a dangerous look. "Drop it." He growled. "I'm here now." He pushed Jason's hand off of him and continued out the door.

"What? Did prince charming stand you up for the ball, princess?"

"I said, drop it, Jason. I'm here now."

Jason got in front of him and blocked his way. "What was so pressing that you made me wait and most likely miss the bus? You've got that stupid map of yours all marked up with the quickest routes, so I know you didn't get lost."

"If we keep standing here, we'll definitely miss the bus." Tim argued. He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you'd like to lug these back packs halfway across town."

Jason pushed open the door, readying for a retort, when he froze in his tracks. Tim shot him a questioning look before looking up to find the reason. Across the abandoned school yard was none other than Dick Grayson, leaning against a car that made both boys drool. "Hey!" He shouted and waved to them.

The approached slowly, both stunned. Their back packs fell to the pavement outside the school gates as they gaped at the wonder of sleek chrome. "How was school?"

The enchantment was broken by his grin. "What are you doing here, Dickhead?" Jason crossed his arms and bit out. Tim elbowed him, but he ignored it.

"Thought you guys might like a ride." Dick stepped aside to let them enter.

Tim eagerly stepped forward, but Jason snatched the back of his collar and pulled him back. He eyed both Dick and the car warily. "You just happened to be in the neighborhood or something?" He challenged. "Didn't think our days sucked nearly enough without your presence?"

Dick's smile never wavered. "Bad, day, huh? The school can be rough." He picked up both of their back packs with ease. "Geez, they really like to pile on the work, don't they? What do you have in here?"

"Catch up." Tim offered, squirming to get out of Jason's hold.

"Ketchup?" Dick chuckled.

"Sure." Tim finally tore free. "Goes well with the tater tots." He opened the side door. "Shot gun! Sweet!"

Jason remained frozen in his spot. "Sorry, I don't hitch a ride with strangers."

Dick shrugged. "Feel free to walk than." He got in the car.

Jason rolled his eyes and got in as well. It beat walking, not that he'd voice it or anything.

"Why did you stop by anyway?" Tim asked, admiring the interior.

"Bruce, Alfred, and I are in investing in your education. I'm just checking in on our investment." Dick winked. "Plus, I've been to this school. I know how tough it can be and what the teachers are like. If either of you need help catching up, I've been told I'm an alright tutor."

"Fat chance." Jason snorted.

"You guys want to head home? Or we could stop by the manor. Alfred probably has some cookies or something and I got a new game for the Xbox." He offered.

Tim looked excited at the prospect, but Jason was eager to check in on his mom.

Jason beat Tim to the answer, giving Dick the address before Tim could eagerly agree to what would probably be yet another extended stay. Jason's face started turning a startling shade of red when they pulled up to the curb and Dick could fully see the cracks in the pavement and how run down the place was. Jason met Dick's eye in the rearview mirror. Jason's chin was raised high despite the blush to his face and his stare was a mix of stubborn pride and a challenge.

Tim seemed crestfallen at the prospect of having to leave Dick's company and having to enter the apartment and confront what was awaiting them. He looked forward to the prospect of yet another boarding school more than having to walk through that door. "Thanks for the ride," he gave Dick a half-hearted smile before opening the door.

Jason grunted something before following him. They were halfway to the stairs before they heard a third door shut. Both turned, Tim with delight and Jason with dread. "I'll walk you to the door."

Once more, Jason interrupted Tim. "We don't need you to walk us to the door." He sneered. "It's not like we're your prom date or something."

Dick shrugged. It made Jason's teeth gnash more each time one of his snide comments simply rolled off the acrobat's back. "Alfred would have my head if he knew I was amiss on common courtesy."

"So don't tell him." Jason snapped.

"Oh, trust me. He knows." Dick shuddered at the thought. "Alfred always knows." Tim and Jason had to shudder as well. Meeting the old man only a couple times was enough to understand.

"What's the harm?" Tim asked, springing up the steps. The newest development seemed to put him in a better mood than when he left the school. Dick followed. Jason didn't answer, but trudged up the steps behind them.

Easy for you to say, he thought. It felt too similar and he shuddered at the memories of years ago, dragging a backpack up the steps, dreading the thought of opening the door. Worrying his lip about whether his mother… He quickly shoved those images aside. His mother was doing better. The apartment was cleaner. At least for the moment, the lights should still be on. The fridge should still be running. They should still have hot water. That, at least, was a momentary guarantee.

"You okay, Jay?" Jason snapped out of his mind to find Dick frowning at him and the kid looking equally concerned.

"Fine." He shoved the two out of the way to unlock and open the door. He walked in, telling Dick over his shoulder, "Guess chivalry isn't dead. Thanks for proving that cliché right. Now that you've done your job, you can go." Waltzing into the kitchen, he ran directly into his mother.

Hands on her hips, she sent him a scathing, chastising look. "Jason Peter Todd." He shrunk back and cringed. Full names were the worst. Especially in front of the kid and company. Tim snickered and Jason shot him a look that matched Catherine's. Dick was just as amused. "That is not how we treat guest."

Jason wanted to argue. Retorts were at the tip of his tongue, but his mother had been so pleased with him this morning and they'd been doing better. He sucked it up and with a sigh, he turned back to Tim and Dick. "My apologies." He welcomed unenthusiastically. "Won't you come in, Dickhead."

"Jason!"

Dick walked in charming as could be. "Why, I'd love to. Thank you for asking." He patted him on the shoulder as he passed. "I almost believed you. I should recommend you for another job. Alfred is looking for a greeter, and clearly its right up your alley."

Jason gritted his teeth as Tim shut the door excitedly introducing his new guest. A quadruple summersault, Jason snorted, yeah right. Catherine was charmed and delighted. He couldn't remember the last time they had company. It wasn't a frequent occurrence with the exception of some of the award-winning guys that she'd have over. Real top-notch guys, Jason thought, rubbing a ghost pain on his shoulder. He wondered where he might put Jack on the list. Loathe as he was to admit it, he wasn't the worst of the bunch... at least not yet and not if Jason could help it.

Catherine played up the part. Beverages, snacks, how delightful Jason and Tim have friends. "Jason never brings his friends over." Can't bring something you don't have, he wants to say but bites his tongue, and she knows why company had been scarce. But with Dick, and even with Tim, she can pretend this is the way it's always been. Food in the fridge with extra to offer and a variety of drink including warm tap water. The sink empty and floors sparkling and the curtains drawn back to let in the sun.

He glances around their small apartment and for the first time is struck by how much it has changed. How much his mother has. All for the better. But there's still this seed of bitterness that is always accompanied by a twinge of guilt. He's jealous that this is the only way Tim and Dick know the apartment, know her. It burns and he balls his fist at this anger, but he quickly pushes it down. Because it's not fair to her and all she accomplished. It's not fair to all they overcome. He doesn't want to be angry with her. He hates it. And he hates himself for it. But for all she can pretend, he cannot... at least not at the moment. The images haunt him. Maybe, he thinks, she can forget and pretend because she wasn't all there, even when she was.

"Jason?" His mother asks.

"What?" He looks over to where they are currently enjoying some store-brand cookies and lemonade. He can't quite meet her eye, ashamed at the thought of ever being mad at her.

"I asked, how was school?"

Horrible, a mess, it sucked, I never want to go back, all honest responses. "Fine," he tells her with a shrug.

"Boys," she huffed with the roll of her eyes. "I get one word from you and noncommittal sounds from this one." She jabs her thumb in Tim's direction. The corner of Jason's mouth twitches.

"Oh, we are the worse," he sighs dramatically, laying a hand on his cheek and shaking his head, "Aren't we?" She smiles and he feels a small victory. It eases the guilt a little. He isn't the easiest son, he knows. He never has been. And she tries, which is more than Jack any day.

The door slams and Tim turns to stone. Catherine tentatively turns. Jason groans, the moment now lost. "Speak of the devil," he drawls. Catherine bats at his shoulder and he shuts his mouth. He owes her that much at the very least. Sometimes, though, he just can't help himself.

Dick doesn't even have time to turn on the charm before Jack bombards him with greetings, ignoring everyone else. "Richard, my boy," he shakes Dick's hand. "How nice to see you! What brings you to my humble abode?" The door is left open. It's a small thing, Jason realizes, but it annoys him.

"Where did you grow up? A Barn?" Jason mutters, skirting around them to remedy the small annoyance.

"Jason," Catherine warns. Not that it mattered since Jack wasn't paying attention to anything, let alone the clear hurt behind Tim's face. Dick seemed to notice it too.

"I just came to drop off Tim and Jason." Dick gestures to the two boys. Nice try, Jason thinks.

"So nice to have you join us," Jack answers distracted, rambling.

"Hey, Timbo," Jason imitates Jack. Sometimes he just can't help it. He's had enough. Even Dick's attempt didn't shift the guy's focus to his son. "How was your day?" Tim's eyes fly to him in confusion. "You know, your first day in a new school?"

"Jason!" Catherine cries.

"Stop it." It's no more than a whisper, but Jason's on a roll.

"Which I clearly remember because I care about you. Which is why I ask."

"Stop it!" Tim yells.

"Timothy Jackson Drake." Jack scolds and Tim cringes.

Jason throws up his arms. "And, now, he notices."

"Go to your room." Jack demands. "Being rude, especially in front of a guest like this, is unacceptable." Tim's mouth hangs open and he stares at his father in disbelief. It's his turn to flush crimson, but there's no amusement on anybody's face. Catherine shifts from foot to foot, on the verge of saying something, but biting her lip. They had company and it was not the best time to get into yet another argument.

"But," Tim begins.

"I said go to your room." Jack stands taller, overshadowing him.

Catherine has an arm around Jason's shoulders, making sure he doesn't move to intervene. Tim's eyes glance to Catherine and Jason, but there's no anger or vengeance or betrayal behind it, just hurt. He spares a glance at Dick, who is clearly very uncomfortable. Finally, he departs.

"I should go," Dick says quietly, standing up from his seat.

"I'm sorry about my son's disrespectful behavior. He and I will have a long chat, I promise." Dick's eyes darted to Jason's. Jason confirms that indeed, that just happened.

"That's alright, Mr. Drake. I'm sure he meant no disrespect." Dick turned to Catherine. "Lovely to meet you. Thank you for the cookies and lemonade. They were delicious. Alfred will be expecting me home soon. And, I'll see you tomorrow Jason." He headed to the door.

"I'll show you out," Jack quickly joined him. "And tell Mr. Wayne, I'm eager to discuss business with him."

"Business?" Jason looked to his mom, but his mother just offered a shrug.

The door slammed shut and Jack rounded on them. "Store-brand cookies?" He raged, shaking the packaging and raining crumbs on the counters and the floor. "You gave the heir to the Wayne fortune, store-brand cookies?"

"That's what you're upset about?" Catherine snapped. It appeared she did about as good a job as Jason when it came to keeping her mouth shut. "The type of cookies I offered him? Did you see your son?"

"Did I see him?" Jack dismissed. "Oh, he was in fine form." He shook his head at the thought.

"That's not what I meant!"

"Then what about Tim?"

"What about Tim?" She shouted. Jason heard his bedroom door shut. "You humiliated him in front of his friend!"

"He humiliated me in front of my collegue's son!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jason demanded.

Jack ignored him. "And you humiliated me!"

"Hey, back off." Jason got in front of his mother.

"Jason, knock it off." Catherine tried to get him out of the way, but he wouldn't budge.

"So what if she served him store-brand cookies?"

"Jason!"

"You cannot serve the heir to the Wayne fortune store-brand cookies! He's going to go back to Wayne and tell him! Then, we'll be ruined!"

"It's you that ruined it!" Jason stood nose to nose with Jack. "You going to tell me to go to my room, too, for raising my voice?" He challenged. "Kind of hypocritical when you dared raised your voice to my mom!"

"Back off, Jason." Catherine tried to break them apart.

Jack looked to Catherine. "Are you going to let him speak to me that way?"

Catherine hesitated. Both waited her answer with bated breath. She sighed. Her voice was quiet but clear and firm. "Jason, go to your room." It felt like a betrayal. What right did she have, even for as much as she's been trying lately?

Jason scoffed. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." She nodded to his room.

Make me, was at the tip of his tongue. But he couldn't quite say that to her and as much as he didn't want to leave her alone with the guy, the betrayal stung. It was clear whose side she chose. He had to get out before he did something he really regretted. "Screw this," he headed for the door. As he lit a cigarette on his way into the alley the apartment overlooked, he saw Tim crawling out the window with his camera.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Thank you so much for all the reviews, views, and follows! After writing this chapter, a very serious question came to mind. What exactly would you call a Bat Ice-Pack?**

* * *

"And where are you off to?" Tim turned with a start to find Jason leaning against the building as cool as could be. "Didn't daddy tell you to stay in your room?"

"It's not like he'll notice," Tim huffed.

"Probably not," Jason agreed, taking a nice long puff. "But, my mom will when she goes to check on you." Tim shot him a dubious look. The thoughts of raising Janet from the dead and shaking her and Jack came to mind again. Even after it was really bad, in her moments of clarity Catherine always still checked in on him. There was always that look of apology that he hated. "And, she doesn't deserve to have a near heart attack of worry when she discovers you high tailed it for the night."

He looked up to the window he just crawled out of. "I think she's a bit distracted at the moment." Now, Jason wanted to shake him. Tim kicked at some rocks and rubbed his neck sheepishly. "And, to be completely honest," he sighed, "I can't take much more of that." Jason studied him for a moment. He wasn't entirely sure that the kid was ever one hundred percent honest. To be that honest for him was like offering Jason his most vulnerable side.

"Yeah," he agreed after a few moments. The betrayal still stung, even during a cigarette to calm down. "Me neither." He stamped out the butt on the bricks of the wall beside him. "I haven't heard a fight like this since…" he whistled, "I don't know when. You sure can get people riled up." And, if you and your lousy dad weren't here, he thought, none of this would have happened. He didn't say it, though. Part of him wondered if he ever voiced any of that to the kid, especially after a day like they had, he'd probably run. And, that would leave Catherine devastated.

He ran his hands through his hair. It was frustrating. No matter what, nobody wins. If Jason did what was necessary to get them to leave, he'd possibly damage the relationship between the two of them they worked so hard to build and leave her hurting. If they didn't leave, though, there'd be nothing but arguing and stress, and it would leave her hurting. Either was enough to cause a backslide in the progress both made. And, the last thing he wanted was his mother to hurt.

"Sorry," Tim muttered. He hesitated. "They used to fight all the time, but never about me. Everything and anything but me." It took Jason a moment to realize he meant Janet and Jack. He shook his head, frustrated. "I don't understand why your mom gets so upset."

Jason growled and pushed him into the bricks. "So, you think it's her fault."

"No," Tim said quickly, holding up his hands placating, "I don't mean that. I just mean, fighting over his lousy handling of finances or the fact he has yet to get a job, sure. I can understand that, but why does she always fly to my defense?"

Jason relaxed and chuckled humorlessly. "You really are an idiot." It was the easiest explanation to go with. Either way, he does not want to end the night making his mother feel worse than he feels. He tried to snatch the collar of Tim's shirt, but Tim dodged out of the way. The two stared at each other for a moment, assessing the other.

"They're probably going to be a while." Tim said, slowly slinking back into the shadows.

Jason made for another grab. "I'd like to think not." Tim artfully dodged once more. "And, either way," Jason gritted his teeth, "you need to go back."

Tim grined at that, a very unsettling sight for Jason. "And who's going to make me?" There was mischievousness behind that look that screamed about as much danger as the glare Jason gave the kid. "You?"

"You bet your ass!" Jason dove for the kid. Something clicked and a flash blinded him momentarily. He rubbed at his eyes irritably, impatient for the stars to stop clouding his sight. When his vision returned, he heard laughter echo in the shadows around him.

"I'd like to see you try." The voice came from above.

The kid was already halfway up another fire escape. He was quick. Jason gave him that, but when this night was through, he planed on giving Tim a lot more. Like a black eye, Jason thought as his fists curled. "You don't want to play this game with me." Jason shouted up to him as he started up after him.

Tim's head appeared over a fire escape a few levels above him. "Why's that?" The question was taunting.

White teeth flashed in the small amount of light pouring from the apartments. "Because I'll win!"

"You have to catch me first," Tim sand and disappeared once more.

"Little shit." Jason murmured.

"Jerk," he heard a few seconds later.

* * *

Tim's heart raced the more he climbed, the more he heard Jason's footsteps behind him. Their insults grew to Monty Python levels. Calling him an English Kanigit resulted in Jason calling his father a hamster and claiming his mother smells of elderberries. This gained some major points for Jason in Tim's book. Even if Jason chased him all around the apartment building and was sure to drag him back after beating him to a pulp, it was fun. It was nice to have company, to not feel as alone when dealing with the likes of Jack Drake.

His father, somehow, always had the ability to make him feel like crap. Normally a night of following Batman around could at least dull the sting. It was nice to be the one who was chased for a changed. And, Tim wasn't sure, but he thought Jason was enjoying himself, at least a little.

"Got you," Out of nowhere Jason made a grab for Tim. His fingers brushed Tim's elbow, but Jason slipped and landed on his knee with an excruciating slam. Jason breathed in sharply through clenched teeth, eyes shut tight and body tense. He hardly made a noise. "Fu," Jason released on a breath, unable to complete his thought.

"Jason," Tim whispered, approaching slowly, the way one would an injured animal.

Jason made a gesture and Tim froze. Once able to collect his breath more easily, he grabbed the railing above him and began pulling himself up. "Damn it." He cursed.

"Let me help you," Tim moved closer.

" 'm fine," Jason grunted, batting him away. Leaning haphazardly on the railing, he gently prodded at his knee. He decided to try some pressure. He hissed and yelped, jumping back at the pain. Before Tim could react to the unsteady sway, Jason was over the railing, arms flailing for anything to grab hold of and Tim's heart plummeted.

"JASON!" He screamed, bending over as far as he can without toppling over, too.

Next thing he saw was a blur interceding, colliding with Jason and gently lowering him to the ground. Relief washed over him. Tim raced down. His mind caught up with him about halfway down. He couldn't approach Batman with a camera around his neck. He also couldn't just abandon it. Never mind that it was a fine piece of equipment, but he couldn't take the chance of someone finding the photos of Batman he had on it. He also couldn't pretend he was not there. He'd given himself away.

He hesitated. He needed to play this one by ear. He was decent at lying and he technically didn't have to start yet. "Jason?" He peered back over the railing. "You alright?"

" 'm fine," Jason shouted up.

"Come down!" The gruff voice of Batman demanded.

Tim stepped back and reconsidered his options. Resigning himself to his fate, he started down. It felt like a walk to the principal's office. Suddenly, the euphoria of running around with Jason disappeared leaving in its wake a feeling worse than the one Jack left him with. At the bottom, Batman waited, towering over him. Jason sat on the bottom of the step, an ice pack in the shape of a bat placed over his knee and looking about as miserable as Tim feels.

He rubed the back of his neck and looked away. It's over. All over. Everything with Bruce Wayne, the scholarship, Dick's friendship. He was finally going to be exposed and he was sure Batman would break his no-kill rule. "Your camera." A gloved hand held out expectantly.

Tim swallowed. He tried to hide the shake in his hands as he handed it over, trying to act nonchallant. "Mostly just some lame photos of the city. Most recent are from tonight." Jason seemed just as tense. Batman flipped through a few of the photos before tossing it back. He held his breath. He thought Jason did the same. The man in the mask was hard to read.

Batman turned, cape flapping dramatically behind him. "It's dangerous playing on fire escapes." Tim and Jason exchange a look. "I'll escort you home."

True to his word, the Dark Knight delivered them to their apartment. He knocked on the door, both boys feeling defeated. Jason wasn't sure which was worse, walking in on Jack and his mother making it work or them fighting. "Tim!" Catherine greeted them, startled. A sharp intake of breath drew her attention to the wall Jason leaned against, trying to take pressure off his throbbing knee. "Jason!"

"These belong to you, I believe."

They lowered their eyes to their shoes. When she turned back to thank him, the caped crusader disappeared.

* * *

Nightwing crouched on a rooftop among the gargoyles, admiring the city below. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Batman walked out of the shadows. "No. Nothing on the camera. At least not immediately."

Nightwing's eyes flickered to Batman. "You can't have everything, B. You saved a kid's life and we got Harley." Batman let out a dissatisfied grunt. "What are we going to do about it?"

"We wait."

* * *

It wasn't until after she made sure Jason's knee was fine that she started in on them. Only bruised, she assured herself, pressing frozen peas to it. They could hear Jack's snoring from down the hall. Jason sat on the couch, biting the inside of his cheek against the assail of coldness and the pressure adding to the shock of pain. "What were the two of you thinking?" She raged, hands on her hips, face growing redder than it had in a long time.

Tim tried sneaking off to the room again. And, Jason thought tiredly and little angrily, probably out the window once more. Why should it hurt him so much that everyone seemed to want to abandon him all of a sudden? Catherine put that idea to rest rather quickly. "Timothy Jackson Drake, sit down!" He obeyed. Frankly, Catherine could be scary when she wanted to be. Must be a mother thing.

Not that Tim would know. His mother could be scary, but in a different way. Where Catherine came across as fire, a mama bear ready to defend her young and whack them upside the head every once in a while, Janet was ice. She was a coiled snake ready to strike. Calm, cool, and collected with words that dripped from her tongue like poison but knife-sharp to cut like fangs.

"You could have been hurt worse!" She ran a hand through her hair. "Do you have any idea how much you scared me, Jason? And, Tim…" She shook her head, voice growing angrier with every word, "Timothy! How dare you! If something happened to you, we wouldn't have even known! And on a school night no less…"

"You don't get to do that." Jason resigned himself to looking up at her since standing did not appear to be an option.

"Excuse me," Catherine said affronted.

"I should give you some space," Tim quickly got to his feet, eager to leave.

"Sit down, Tim." Catherine didn't take her eyes off of Jason. "I am your mother, Jason,…"

"But, you're not mine." Though Tim's voice was quiet, it was clear through the yelling. Both Jason and Catherine turned to him. "With all due respect, ma' am, I am not your son." He inched backward. The hurt was clear on Catherine's face and Jason moved to remedy the situation, force Tim to take those words back. She put a hand on his shoulder, though. Tim disappeared into Jason's room and Catherine let him go.

"I might not be his mother," the hurt broke through the ranting, "but I am yours. I have every right…"

"You don't!" Jason glared. "You gave that up a long time ago." She took a step back as though he slapped her in the face. He really didn't mean to hurt her like this, either, but she hurt him. And he has trouble keeping his mouth shut. He got it from her so she should know by now. He shook his head and shifted closer to the edge of the couch. "After everything that happened and especially after tonight when you took his side!"

"I didn't take his side!" Catherine argued.

"You did! You told me to go to my room like I'm just some kid!"

"You are a kid!"

"I haven't been a kid in a long time!" Her breathing hitched. "It's too late to try to get it back. We can't get that back! I love you, mom, but you don't have that right anymore."

She lowered herself to the arm of a chair. Tears threatened to fall and he had to look away before he gave into them. "I'm sorry."

He's heard those words too many times to have them mean anything. She said them desperately, trying to take back everything she couldn't. She wanted them to be a promise, but she had a habit of breaking those. "He treats you like dirt. How can you expect me to just sit around and take that?"

"He doesn't treat me like dirt! He's just not used to something like this and I'm trying to make this work." She took his hand. "Can't you understand that, Jason? I want this to work."

"But what about us?" Jason took his hand away. He felt like a little kid. "We were doing okay there for a bit before he came into the picture." It was a silent agreement they shared when she first started getting better. They were still repairing what was now made so blatantly clear was still broken. All those months and now it felt like a bandaid that's been ripped off.

"I'm sorry." She sat down next to him with a sigh. He wanted to believe her. He chanced a look at her, tears falling freely, smearing her makeup and he crumbled.

"I'm sorry, too," he muttered. He felt like he was worse than Jack. How horrible of a son did he have to be to dig up the past and make his own mother cry? He took her hand and offered a small smile. "I'm sorry, too." And Jason was a man of his word. He never broke a promise.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Thank you for all the review, follows, favorites, and views! I know I don't always say it, but it is always appreciated. This chapter probably needs a lot of work and I probably shouldn't have stopped it where I did, but I was debating adding more and it taking more time or just giving you an update now. The latter won out, mostly because I'm impatient. Also, about the gym teacher, I do recognize there are amazing gym teachers out there, however I failed to encounter one during my public education career after elementary school. Also, I'll try to make the next couple of chapters not focus so much on them at school., though there are a few things that will need to be addressed some time in the future. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

By the time morning rolls around and their too-early alarm rings, Tim stumbled out of Jason's bedroom looking like death. If Jason didn't know any better, he'd guess that camera of his was filled with more photos of Batman. He shuddered. How much did Batman know? How much could he deduce about the two of them? How many kids run around rooftops at night with a camera around their neck? He was called the World's Greatest Detective. Still, what were some tires in comparison to most crimes that go on in Gotham? If he ended up in Juvie again because the stupid kid made it so glaringly obvious who they were, he was going to kill him.

Most mornings were met with the bitter smell and rattling of the coffee maker. Whenever Tim made it, though, it was strong enough to singe the hair in Jason's nose. It normally sped up the getting ready process in the morning, though. A fact for which Jason was grateful. He hated to think about walking to school, and getting there an hour or two late if they were lucky. Never mind about the scholarships. It wasn't worth the exertion, especially with his knee.

Tim freezes in his half-awake daze. There are very few things that could possibly keep him from coffee. At boarding school when they considered students too young for caffeine and coffee was considered an unhealthy alternative to copious amounts of Mountain Dew, he often snuck into the teacher's lounge to help himself to a few cups throughout the day. If anyone knew, the teacher's sure didn't complain. There was always a steaming half-full pot by the time he left. When sent to camp, with similar dietary restrictions – seriously, there was healthy and then there was ridiculous- he once hiked thirteen miles to the nearest convenience store. Sometimes it paid to be invisible. Now, though, not so much.

He could probably sneak in, make a pot, and not be noticed. Even if he dropped and broke a mug, he doubts Jack would realize he's there. Now, if he dropped a mug and his precious giver-of-life elixir were to spill all over Jack's precious newspaper and books, that would be a different story. And, given his luck and the unsteadiness of his hands which is more likely attributed to last night, but he'd rather blame it on fatigue, it would probably make the entire day more bearable to simply… god forbid he even think it, forgo coffee… or any interaction with his father.

He turns on his heel and stumbles back to Jason's room. Gritting his teeth, Jason pushes himself off the couch. His back protests almost as much as his knee. Their couch sucks. It's better today, which is not saying much, but he still avoids pressure as much as he can. He drags his sorry ass after the kid, who, without coffee, has most likely landed face first onto his bed. When he enters, lo and behold, he finds Tim curled up around a pair of jeans Jason thinks might be his and snoring away.

"Seriously," Jason mutters. He digs through Tim's nest of blankets, camera parts, and other possessions he hoards, fitting for his last name. When he comes across his Math text book, he promptly plucks it from the pile and tosses it for Tim's head. It collides and he smirks at the yelp it gains him.

"Sleep," he glares at Jason, rubbing at the growing sore spot. He shoves the textbook to the floor.

"I'll make it a hammer next time," Jason warns. Tim doesn't budge.

"I'll make you coffee," Jason sings.

"Your coffee sucks," Tim turns over.

"I'll buy you a cup." Tim turns back, staring at Jason. His eyes narrow through the sleepiness, trying to decide if Jason's lying and if he's not, if it's worth the amount of effort it will take to get it.

"Promise?" Jason rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. I promise. Just get up already. My knee hurts enough without having to drag you out of here."

A look of guilt passes Tim's face and he remembers everything about the other night. Then dread as he remembers Batman. He's a bit slow in the morning. Jason can't fault him for that without his coffee. "Right." A uniform hit him square in the face and he quickly pulled it on, despite every ounce of him begging for sleep.

* * *

Jason raced down the hallway. He had a matter of seconds before the bell would ring. If the bus was a minute later than it already was and if the line at the gas station was any longer, the door would've already been locked. Without a second thought, he slid the final few feet. Knocking into the door just as the teacher stood behind it with eyes glued to the second hand of his watch. His backpack fell underneath his feet and tripped him, causing him to land on his bruised knee. He sucked air between clenched teeth, but he was not the only one injured in his grand entrance. The teacher stood behind him, rubbing his nose gingerly. "Here!" Jason forced a grin and the bell rang.

"I see that," Grouched the teacher, slamming the door shut.

* * *

Finally able to bring the cup to his lips, the enticing scent and steam flooded his nostrils and he delighted in the anticipation. Right as Tim was about to have a sip, the coffee was ripped from his hands and promptly deposited into the garbage can by the teacher's desk. He thought he might cry. "No food or drink allowed in my classroom, _Mr. Drake_!"

He stared at the evil trash can, willing his coffee to come back to him. He could have done that all class if a ruler didn't come down on his desk, startling him. He yelped and jumped back, almost toppling his chair over, much to the amusement of the rest of the class. "Isn't that right, _Mr. Drake_?"

"Er, yes?"

"What is right, _Mr. Drake_?"

"Um?"

"That is not an answer, _Mr. Drake_." Tim wasn't sure what to say. His friend Ives used to help him out. What he would give for Ives, now. Some hint to what the question might have been.

He glanced over to the kid's textbook beside him. The other student tore it out of view, but not before he caught the page number. "The second day in a row that you decide to interrupt us. Just like a _Drake_ to go back on his word." His eyes narrowed as he shifted his focus to the board.

"Right, ma' am." He flashed a smile that was all teeth. The comparison whether in regard to his mother or father stung, each for different reasons. And, after all, she was the one who took his coffee away. "Through Jekyll and Hyde, Stevenson discusses the theme of human nature's duality."

His teacher's smile was sharper than Tim's. It reminded him of his mother at galas. "That would be correct… if that was the question I asked."

Tim deflated. He desperately needed that coffee. "I asked if a signed note home would be fair consequence and help you remember the next time,_ Mr. Drake_?" Tim put his head back on his desk. The snickers that reverberated around the classroom made him shrink in his seat.

"Sure," he muttered. Once more he mourned his precious cups of coffee.

* * *

Gym class sucked. Normally he didn't mind pelting rich kids with rubber balls. He wondered if he hit them hard enough if they'd crack open like a piñata and spill gold coins and hard cash. He usually often had them eating his dust when it came to running. Today, though, he felt like a tortoise.

And the coach noticed. "Move it, Todd." "You won't break a nail if you go faster, Todd." "I'm sure you'll still be a catch with all the guys if you beat their time, Todd." Jason tried to push himself. The more the coach's jibes pissed him off and the more his knee hurt, he tried to push himself harder, if only to get the guy to shut up. He was 95% sure decking a teacher would result in losing their scholarships. It didn't pay in the long run, though.

He collapsed to the ground and hit his fists against the gym floor. "God da-"The coach didn't finish his curse, probably because the rich brats would rat out his hard-ass the first chance they got. "On your feet, Todd."

Shaking, he liked to think more from the righteous anger than from the strain on his knee, Jason got to his feet and turned to face the coach, leaning against the wall to remain standing. Screw the scholarships, screw everything. "Ignorant, sexist asshole!"

The coach's eyes widened. "What did you say?"

"Ever hear of Katherine Switzer, Bobbi Gibb, Margaret Groos Sloan or any of the other countless female marathon runners who had countless men eating their dust and would wipe the floor with you, especially?" He poked the guy's beer gut. "So next time you want to compare a slow runner to the whole of a specific sex, remember those gold medals and marathon winners and record breakers!" He started limping off before the coach or his classmates could say anything. "Yeah, yeah," he said between grinding teeth, using the wall and door frame for support, "already heading out of class."

Just the sight of his knee alone made him cringe as he changed in the locker rooms.

* * *

Tim laid his head down on the lunch room table. It was sticky from the previous lunch, but he was too tired to care. There were only about five minutes left, and thanks to his particularly chatty teachers today he only arrived a minute or two ago. Apparently they were very dissatisfied with his performance, or lack thereof today. The cafeteria ran out of any decent looking food three minutes before he got there. He blamed it on his evil teacher. Two beautiful cups of coffee ruined.

Jason flicked his ear. Tim grumbled irritably and unintelligibly, shoving the offending hand away. "Where the hell have you been?"

Tim tossed him a wrinkled paper wordlessly and tried to close his heavy eyes. He felt miserable. It earned him another annoying and painful flick of his ear. "Stop it!"

"What's this?"

"If the words are too hard to pronounce, try sounding them out?" Jason looked like he wanted to kill him and when his words finally registered he couldn't blame the guy.

"Fuck you!" Jason flicked him again. Tim got off easy. He deserved worse.

"Sorry." Tim muttered. Now, he felt worse.

This better not cost us our scholarships, jackass!"

"It won't," Tim promised weakly. Jason pinched him. "What is wrong with you?"

"What is wrong with you? The apple clearly doesn't fall far from the tree. Right now it's harder to see who the bigger jackass is, you or daddy dearest?" That stung. Tim visibly flinched.

"What do you mean?" Tim's brow creased. He wasn't sure how much more he could take being compared to his parents. "What have I done?"

"You hurt her!" Jason flicked him again.

"Ow! Jason, quit it!"

"She does everything for you! And then you throw it in her face that she's not your mom"

"But Catherine's not my mom." Tim argued. Jason wasn't sure what was more infuriating and frustrating; that he seemed genuinely confused or his insistence.

"She's been a better mom than your mom ever was."

Tim stood up quickly. "Shut up!" He wasn't sure if it was the fatigue, the crappy day, or the guilt he was feeling, but Janet was still a sore subject. "You don't know anything about my mom."

"Really? Because everything I've heard about her highly recommends her, what with the evident neglect and all. I'm starting to see why she never wanted to be around you." Tim shoved him hard enough to send him and his chair toppling backwards.

Jason hopped to his feet, much to the protest of his knee. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he threw his fist.

By the time the teacher's managed to separate them they were covered in ketchup and Jason's lunch, and their fair share of bruises and scrapes. The rest of the cafeteria looked at them like a freak show and the teachers looked at them like they were trash. As they passed a table of Tim's classmates, one whispered about missing him after last period and having to make up for it tomorrow.

The hallway seemed longer, but the walk of shame tends to do that. It felt like a parade to shun them and as Tim dared a glance at a still fuming Jason, he wondered if it was ever possible to make Jason feel ashamed.

In the office, the principal told them to sit, shut up, and wagged his finger. Tim was waiting for a rolled up newspaper to smack him on the nose. Normally, he was on good terms with a school's staff. Detentions and trips like this were rare, mostly because he never usually got caught.

Jason on the other hand seemed right at home. He sat back, and would have been entirely relaxed if it wasn't for the anger. He ignored the principal for the most part, especially when he pulled out Jason's thick folder and Tim's relatively small one. When the principal threatened a call home for someone to pick them up, Jason's attention snapped back to the stern man.

"There's nobody home." Tim almost believed him until he remembered that Catherine was always home.

"You can't leave without an adult. And I need to talk to your parents."

"Then I guess we'll be here a while." He put his feet up on the principal's desk, much to Tim's horror. "Shall we continue to listen to how much we're a stain on your perfect little hell hole of a school or is this the part where we sit and think about what we've done." If the principal's face turned any redder, Tim was afraid it might actually explode. The guy looked ready to punch Jason himself. Before he could open his mouth, Tim offered an alternative.

"If a parent is unavailable, could someone else take their place? A friend of the family, perhaps, who is like a brother and sure to relay the message to our parents?"

Jason's eyes narrowed at him. The principal looked ready to say no. "That way we can get out of your hair quicker and you can return to your very busy work… sir." With a final look at Jason, he relented and agreed.

Twenty minutes later, Dick Grayson showed up in his police uniform. Jason scowled at him, and that was all the principal needed to feel relieved about the decision. Dick greeted that principal with a handshake and grabbed a seat between the two felons.

Tim leaned over and whispered, "Thanks for coming. We didn't know who else to call." He lowered his voice even more. "If you don't mind playing along." Dick merely winked at him before melting into the role.

"I am very sorry for their behavior. I can promise you there will be consequences and I can assure you this will never happen again." Jason rolled his eye but Tim sighed in relief. Dick managed to get them out of there fairly quickly and by the time they left he had the principal thoroughly charmed, as well as the ladies in the office who thought him a saint for putting up with such horrible little snots of "brothers."

When they finally managed to get to the parking lot, Jason kept on walking. Dick snagged the back of his collar. "Whoa, where do you think you're going?"

"Get off me!" Jason pushed him away. Dick held his hands up placating. "Where do you think?" He snapped.

"Well, I assume not home." That stopped Jason in his tracks.

"Your mom would probably find it odd you're home so early, and while Tim might have no problem lying, you don't strike me as someone who lies to your mother if you can help it." Tim hung his head, unsure if it was possible to feel lower than he currently did. It felt like a bit of a hypocritical statement from a guy with a secret identity, but it still stung coming from someone he admired.

"You don't know shit about me, Dickface." Jason started to walk again.

"I know you don't want your mom to know," Dick sang as he unlocked the car.

"She won't know." It was a promise.

"And what's to stop me from telling her." Jason turned back as Dick opened the door. Dick smiled sweetly and Jason knew he was screwed.

"Fine," he groaned and stomped back over to the car. "What do you want? What will it take to keep your mouth shut?" Tim wondered if Dick knew he was poking an angry bull.

"In," he gestured to the front seat. "And try not to smear ketchup on the interior." Jason got in shotgun with a slam of his door. "You, too, Thing two!" Tim hesitated. "I did leave work early for you guys. My boss was not happy." Tim did as he was told.

"And, I like to keep my word," Dick informed them as he got in and headed for the manor. "I wasn't lying when I said there would be consequences." Jason grimaced.

"You had to call Dickhead!" Jason turned in his seat to glare at the younger boy.

"It was a better plan than what you were doing." Tim argued, folding his arms.

"And if you're going to call me a big brother," Dick said pointedly, ignoring the arguing, "I might as well act the part!"

"You're enjoying this," Jason accused him. Dick merely grinned in reply.

"And how are you going to make sure we don't do it again?" Jason challenged.

"Oh, I thought I'd let Alfred handle that." Both Tim and Jason shuddered at the thought. They were quiet after that. Tim's light snores filled the silence. He curled up in the back seat, drooling against the window. Even Gotham traffic couldn't wake him. "He seems tired," Dick watched him through the rear view mirror.

"Long night," Jason mumbled.

"So what exactly happened?"

Jason shrugged. "We had a fight. I punched him."

"Thanks," Dick said drily, "That helps. Why?"

"He's an asshole." Dick gave him a look. "What? He is! He pushed me. I got mad."

"Why did he push you?"

"I might have said something about his mother."

"Low blow." Dick whistled. "Really low blow."

"Hey, he hurt my mom!" Jason defended. "He almost made her cry!"

Dick looked surprised. "He did?"

Jason nodded and Dick frowned at the sleeping boy. Before he could say anything else, they pulled up to the manor and Jason hopped out, ready to get this over with.


	15. Chapter 15

Alfred answered the door with a raised eyebrow. It was the only indication of surprise at seeing Dick, still in a police uniform, in the early afternoon, accompanied by a grumpy Jason at his side and a drooling, fast asleep Tim in Dick's arms, wearing school uniforms and what looked like a good portion of their lunches. For as unfazed as Alfred looked, Dick acted with the same ease. "Hey ya, Alfie! Would you like some help around the house?"

There was a slight twitch to the old butler's mustache. It was the kind of amusement you could only find when you were looking. It made Dick share a mischievous look and Jason's stomach sink. "I have a few chores I could use some assistance on." He was not looking forward to Alfred's definition of "a few" nor what such chores may entail.

"Showers first may be needed as to not undo all the hard work I accomplished this morning." He opened the door wider and stood aside to let the three pass through. As Jason went to cross over the threshold, Alfred quickly added, "And do leave your shoes by the front door, young sir."

Grumbling, Jason did as was asked. After all, blackmail can be very persuasive.

They showed him to a bathroom and he was more than happy to wash his hands of the kid for the time being and enjoy a nice shower. The bathroom itself glistened, filled with expensive products he didn't think he should even be looking at, let alone in the same room with. For a moment, he had to stop and consider whether or not the small sea shell soaps in the bathroom were like the tiny toiletries you find in a hotel. Could he just snatch them? Would that be considered stealing?

He figured he was in enough trouble as it was and shouldn't risk it. Though, his mom would probably appreciate the chamomile scented one. Did all rich people have tiny hotel soaps in their guest's bathroom or was it just the Waynes? How many shapes could soap possibly come in? He wondered if batman had bat shaped soap and had to smirk at the image.

The shower itself had to be the nicest shower he ever experienced. And, the towels were soft enough to use as a pillow. He had to find out what detergent Alfred used. That too was probably too expensive to even consider, though. Nothing dripped or leaked and there was a pleasant combination of scents. It was then he decided the door must have opened into heaven instead of the guest bathroom. Especially when the steady stream of warm water hit him. His knee seemed please by it. Not too hot and not too cold, unlike what was carried in the rusted old pipes of the apartment.

It was then he decided he would take his sweet time. If they were going to black mail him, he'd run up their hot water bill and snag that chamomile soap for his mom while he was at it. It wasn't like the Waynes couldn't afford it.

* * *

Waking Tim turned out to be no walk in the park. Dick was tempted to let the kid sleep before his extensive list of chores would begin, but that would entail allowing sheets to become as stained and dirtied as his uniform now was. He wished he spoke to Jason about some tricks ahead of time. One thing was certain, the kid would need a shower and Dick needed more coffee.

Alfred set about making a pot. "Food fight in the cafeteria, I take it." He said conversationally. Dick didn't question this knowledge anymore. Agent A was a good detective in his own right. And, between Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson as wards, was there anything he hadn't seen or dealt with?

Dick hummed, shifting the kid to a more comfortable position. Not only was Tim small, but Dick also noticed how light he was. He looked younger in his arms, too. A fact that was easy to forget at times. "As well as more contact fighting." He smirked.

"Spats are to be expected now and again between siblings," Alfred noted.

"I think it's more than the usual rivalry, though," Dick frowned at the boy in his arms. "They're dealing with a lot."

Alfred nodded sagely. The coffee machine rattled and the bitter scent wafted throughout the kitchen. Neither were sure which did the trick, but Tim's eye's blinked open.

Dick placed him back on his feet to save him the embarrassment. His face turned red enough at seeing Alfred's most unimpressed look at his appearance. Tim looked hopeful at the dark liquid, but Alfred quickly quelled that. "A shower is in order first. You may return to sleep after. Then, and only then, will I permit a cup before your work shall begin, young man."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Alfred?" Dick asked with a humorous grin as Tim yawned. "Might fall asleep in there."

Tim was unable to meet the old man's eye as he lead him to another bathroom.

* * *

Jason kicked open the door, towel around his waist, surprised to discover some clean clothes laid out on the guest room bed. He touched them as though they were sacred and brought them to his nose as well. For a moment, he stood there, clothes in hand, dripping wet, in the midst of a single room larger than his apartment. And, he considered what it must have been like to grow up there. With well stocked kitchen; warm, clean clothes laid out; comfy bed; enough space; and someone as loving and present as Alfred. He burned with envy and it mixed unpleasantly with feeling like a fish out of water, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. The clothes weren't anywhere near as fancy as the school uniform, just a simple t-shirt and jeans, probably Dick's old things, but it still felt too nice for him to even look at.

He dressed quickly because he was feeling vulnerable enough and had no other options. His towel was left in hand, unsure of what to do with it. It didn't seem like a place where you could just hang it on the door. What he would give to have the kid there to ask proper protocol. He decided to bring it down with him, conscious of keeping the drips off the floor.

* * *

It was an odd feeling being in someone else's house, but Tim supposed he should be used to it by now. It had been a while since he hadn't felt like a guest, even in a place he was meant to consider his own. As far as the apartment went, it was always Catherine and Jason's. Frankly, he was surprised they hasn't kicked him and his dad out yet.

His mind flew a million different directions. He supposed he should focus more on staying awake. Drowning in a shower, after all, was not his preferred method of departing. He leaned heavily on the sparkly-clean tiles, arms covered in goose bumps from the sharp contrast of the steaming water. He was just happy to have consistent flow and heat, lack of mildew growing at whatever edge it could find, and a drain that wasn't constantly clogged.

For the first time in months, he'd consider a shower pleasant and he wasn't even awake enough to enjoy it. He let the food and grime and guilt wash away, until he felt like he was losing the battle against fatigue. He pulled on the pants that were left for him, forced the shirt over his head and possibly an arm, tossed the towel over his shoulder and collapsed face first into the bed. Dick and Alfred did say something about a nap.

* * *

Jason was about halfway through his list of chores, and boy did he save Alfred by convincing him to switch the two lists, when his knee decided to finally give out from all the strain he put it through. His ground teeth and clutched his leg, though it wasn't as subtle as he hoped, but he thought Alfred was the kind to see everything.

Alfred procured a seat out of seemingly thin air and demanded a look at the injury. With an acrobat in the house, and if Brucie Wayne was anything like the media portrayed, he was sure Alfred met with his fair share of injuries. Despite not being particularly fond of the punishment and extensive list and the many exaggerations he voiced about it's length, he did enjoy the time spent with Alfred. He wasn't about to let his knee stop him from completing his list.

"While I admire your work ethic," Alfred told him, fetching a bag of peas from the freezer, "you should have told us of your injuries." He grumbled, especially at the shock of the cold, but it was nice to be taken care of like that. He had a vague memory of his mother putting a bandaid on a scraped knee when he was two maybe, but other than that he couldn't remember the last time someone cared for him like that and he felt like he could let them.

Sure, his mother tried now, she wanted desperately to do it for him, but it wasn't always so easy to let her. He had to take care of her in a way he didn't think anyone ever had to take care of Alfred. There was too much history, too many times he got his hopes up, too many promises broken. It was the bandaid he put on himself, whatever flimsy protection it offered.

It was then that Dick volunteered to help. "What makes you think I require your assistance, Dickface?" Jason shifted position to glare at the older man and accidently splashed some water from the dish he was holding on Dick's change of clothes. The entire kitchen seemed to freeze, mouth's gaping at one another and Alfred merely observing, ready to intervene if deemed necessary. Jason broke the silence with a laugh that threatened to teeter him off the stool. Dick's jaw snaps shut. His eyes narrowed, but carried some of that mischievousness from before. Jason was just in time to block his face with the dripping plate as Dick attempted to retaliate with a spoon under the faucet.

"B-" Alfred could barely get a word in edgewise before Jason grabbed for a bowl half-full of mucky water and threw it on Dick. "-oys." Jason laughed harder, jarring his knee. "That is quite enough." Both turned, Jason red-faced and Dick dripping wet. He raised a single eyebrow and it was enough to quiet Jason to at least a chuckle. The grin, though, was just as wide and both Alfred and Dick couldn't help but feel a little sense of accomplishment. "Master Dick, what a lovely offer to assist Master Jason. I assume that will extend to cleaning up the floor as well." Both boys glanced down to see the hard wood floors growing in puddles, especially where Dick stood.

Dick saluted. "Aye, aye." He shook himself off, sure to get Jason with the stray drops.

"Sure thing, Alfred." And the old butler went back to sipping his tea.

* * *

When Tim woke up, the towel had disappeared and if the fluorescent red numbers on the alarm clock to his right were correct, Jason probably finished all of his chores. He colored in embarrassment and hurried for the kitchen, begging whatever powers that be that he did not just royally screw up a second time in a single day.

He wondered how much Alfred welcomed the help and tried to think of what he might do with some free time on his hands. Read a book, watch some old movie, maybe play some chess? Did they have movies when Alfred was younger? He tried to think of some way he could make it up to the old butler and to Jason. Would Dick be disappointed or mad at him, too? And what if they never invited him over again?

He slid to a stop, crashing into the dining room table to find Jason perched on a chair, washing the dishes, an ice pack on his knee, and a very wet Dick drying them as Alfred sipped tea. "You slept well, I hope."

"Nice of you to join us, Sleeping Beauty!" Jason greeted, waving a lathered hand and flicking soap at Dick. "Alfred was going to give you chores in the kitchen, so I switched them. Can't have you destroying a kitchen as nice as this, too."

"Hey!" Dick spluttered, splashing Jason with some water.

Just as Jason was about to retaliate, Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Boys." They grumbled but returned to their respective jobs.

"I'm not that bad in the kitchen," Tim mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Judging by the puddles where Jason sat and Dick stood, he at least wouldn't make it that much worse.

Alfred pushed a sheet of paper closer to Tim. "Though, I remind you, this is meant to be a punishment, Jason thought you might appreciate these a bit more."

"You must be going senile, Alfie, I've got no idea what you're talking about!" Jason shouted over his shoulder.

Tim glanced down at the sheet of paper. He saw maintenance of various vehicles, including the ones he drooled over before and something about photography frames. He glanced up at Jason's back. What was this? A peace offering? Some type of olive branch? Was the fight and what it was about so easily forgiven? Knowing what he knew of Jason, he didn't think so. It was probably just luring him into a false sense of security. Aiding with a bully, only to punch him in the face. If it was to make him feel even more guilty over everything that happened he was succeeding.

* * *

"Timmy!" Dick's voice sang and echoed around the garage. "Oh, Timmy!"

Tim looked up from the car he was working on. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, smearing oil and grease. Dick laughed as he pulled a rag from the tool kit and tossed it to him. As he inspected the kids hard work, he let out a whistle. Cleaned, waxed, and whatever else he was doing under the hood. It was impressive work for the amount of time he'd been working. All the running around dusting and admiring photographs hung throughout the manor and the car maintenance really wore him out. Dick was exhausted just looking at the list Alfred drew up. "What's up?"

"Alfred made snacks."

Tim frowned. He wasn't sure if this was an invitation or part of the punishment. "Okay." He waited patiently to be given some direction. When Dick blinked expectantly at him, he guessed and returned to his work. "I'm almost done..."

"No, Tim." Dick stepped in between him and the car. "Food. Aren't you hungry?"

Tim bit his lip. Was this a test? "But I haven't finished."

Dick grabbed his shoulders. "Tim. Timbo. Timmy. Timmy Changa." He shook him with each name. "You've done a lot and with no complaining." But was it enough was the question. "You deserve to take a break and get a little food." His stomach agreed with the sentiment. Dick merely smirked at him. "I knew you were hungry."

"But..." He looked back the tools that were left strewn all over the ground, the car with the hood up, and the mess of oil and grease he had yet to clean up as Dick steered him out of the garage.

"We'll finish it later. If it makes you feel any better, I can help you with your homework." Dick offered.

* * *

Jason went from dishes to helping Alfred prepare dinner and a snack. While he didn't mind per se Dick Grayson being near him or even fooling around with the water, though he'd never admit it, he enjoyed the time alone with Alfred that much more. Whether or not they spoke, there was a comfort and an acceptance Jason rarely felt around others. Once more, he felt a burn of jealousy, twisting in his gut. He was almost afraid to trust these moments with the old man. At times it felt like a moment that wasn't even necessarily his to hold on to.

At the end of the night, he'd return to the apartment and to the mess they left behind. His hands rolling out some dough slowed. He couldn't seem to reconcile the need to protect his mother and that he did love her with this desperate wish for an infinite break. Such thoughts felt wrong, selfish. But, he knew, if he had the choice, he would always return to that apartment and his mom.

"Something weighing on your mind, Master Jason?" Alfred didn't so much as pause in his work, let alone look up for where he was slicing apples. "Young Master Tim, perhaps?" Jason opened his mouth to deny it, object to even the thought of it, but found it would be a lie. Something about the old man made it difficult to lie to him. Since Tim and his father came into their lives, they became entangled in everything. He could not longer think about or worry his bottom lip over his mother without considering the other two who lived under the same roof.

He tensed and glowered at the dough. "Why would I think about the brat?" The image of the tears and hurt of his mother's face still stung. Unlike most and unsurprisingly, Alfred did not rise to the bait of Jason's attitude, tone of voice, or defensiveness. If Jason was looking for a fight, he wouldn't get it from the butler. He almost wished Dick Grayson was here instead. He was sure he could get fists flying under a minute if he was with Dick.

"I could not begin to assume. Though, you were pondering something with the utmost concentration and there was that earlier spat with the other young sir."

"I didn't do anything wrong!" He felt his hackles rise as he balled up the dough once more to punch it a few times. Better than putting his fist through the wall, he reminded himself, all the more when he remembered his own addition to Catherine's tears.

"I did not suggest anything of the sort," Alfred told him gently.

"What would you do if he upset your mother?" Jason's voice rose, face growing redder.

"Defending one's mother is always a great honor."

"Damn right!" Jason agreed. After a moment with Alfred's piercing eyes on him, he felt there was something more to what Alfred was saying.

"Justice by any means necessary."

Jason's shoulders slumped. "Right." How could validation leave him feeling so unsure?

"An eye for an eye, after all." Alfred went on conversationally.

"Yeah," Jason murmured. Someone punches you, you punch them back. He felt like he was missing something.

"How blindly he hurt her, he hurt you." Alfred sighed. "And how blindly he's been hurt."

Jason's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Perhaps there's more to the picture than what you've seen or considered. And, it would be wise to try to put yourself in his shoes."

"He shouldn't have said she wasn't his mother." He argued.

"Is she?"

"She's been more his mom than his own ever was!"

"Think about that for a moment." He wasn't used to it, as his mother always said. Jason was damn tired of hearing that excuse. "Consider if you will, the confusion that would come from a stranger filling the role your own mother never could. Or, perhaps, a bridge of understanding could be built in your visits to the manor. A similar situation, merely reversed." The awkwardness, the uncertainty, the mix of jealousy and confusion, especially where the likes of Alfred was concerned. Jason sighed and hung his head. He supposed that made sense, even if he didn't want to try to understand the brat. He still couldn't deny the comparison. "Well played, Alfred. Well played." Alfred merely returned to his work as Jason made a mental note to never face him in a game of chess. Something told him, he'd get checkmate every time.

Jason decided begrudgingly that a white flag would be raised as soon as the kid made it up to his mother, as soon as it was made right. After all, the kid, annoying as he was, had proven to be useful.

* * *

"What's all that about with you and Jason?" Dick asked when they finally settled at the table in the living room, surrounded by homemade tatertots. Tim would have been in heaven if it were not for that question and the reasons weighing heavy on his mind.

Tim took his time chewing his tatertot. He shrugged. "Just stuff." Dick looked unimpressed by the answer. "Brother stuff." They stared each other down. Dick wanted an answer. And, Tim was trying to figure out how much to divulge and if Dick really wanted that. Tim's had friends before, such as Ives. Even then, though, it was always half-assed answers that would suffice. With his parents and most adult interactions, they preferred the bare minimum compared to how much he could usually babble. 'How are you' or 'how's your day' should be replied to with 'Fine and yours.' They could babble, talk nonsense about anything they liked. Just he couldn't.

"Looked like more than just brother stuff."

"What do you know about brother stuff?" He didn't mean to ask it out loud. It was something Jason would've said, same defensive tone and everything.

The corner of Dick's mouth quirked upward. "I've got friends that are like brothers. Trust me, this isn't just a 'he broke my one-of-a-kind extremely expensive doohickey when he took it without asking' type of argument or a 'he stole my slice of pie and it was the last one' or a 'he embarrassed me in front of the girl I really like or…"

"I get it," Tim chuckled, but he shrugged once more. "But Jason and I aren't exactly normal brothers."

"What do you mean?"

"Our parents aren't even married for one. It's only been a matter of months that we've known each other. And, to be honest, it's not all together brotherly as much as necessary."

"Necessary?"

"Yeah, the enemy of my enemy type of thing."

"And what exactly is this ultimate enemy."

Money, he thought, or lack thereof. The situation itself. "Just…"

"Stuff?" Dick finished for him. He shook his head. He slammed their textbooks shut and put up his pointer finger. "Lesson number one, young padawan, families come in all shapes and sizes and for various different reasons. Blood of the coven is stronger than the water of the womb, after all."

"Thanks for the lesson in diversity," Tim rolled his eyes, "But I came for help in chemistry and English."

Dick put his hand on the cover before Tim could turn it back to the needed page and he stuck up a second finger. "Lesson number two, Jason and his mom care about you. Now, from what I understand, they are probably very different than what you're used to, but don't push them aside. I know it can be hard to adjust to something that is so different, but they do care."

"But I'm not their's to care about." Tim murmured, feeling that odd mix of guilt and genuine confusion.

"Refer back to lesson number one, Timmy." Dick stuck up a third finger. "And, lesson number three…" Dick snatched Tim's plate of tatertots and, with a mischievous smile, took off. "Guard your tatertots better!" He shouted over his shoulder. Tim made a mad dash after him.

After much running around and Dick showing off some of his acrobatics, Alfred put a stop to the shenanigans when ketchup smeared across a kitchen wall. "One food fight is more than enough," Alfred warned as he passed, nose in the air. After cleaning it up and sheepish apologies, both boys returned to Tim's homework.

* * *

"What on earth are you…" Catherine ran to the fire escape and gaped as Tim and Jason turned, trowels in hand and dirt covering them from head to two. She blinked taking in the entire scene. A bag of miracle grow slumped by their feet. The railing held a green plastic planter and in it sat white daffodils with pale pink centers.

"Uh…" Tim rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous smile. "Sorry for the mess."

Jason seemed just as anxious. "We hope you like it." He moved to give her a better view of the planter and wiggled his fingers in a ta-da gesture.

Her eyes darted between both boys and the planter. "What are you two up to?"

Jason dropped the hands, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Nothing, geez. It's like you don't trust us."

Her lips pursed in an effort to hide the smile and she put her hands on her hips. "I wonder why that is."

Tim raised an eyebrow. It felt like an inside joke between the two of them and he was intruding. She stood the same way his mother did that time he knocked into the vase she brought back from one of their trips. But the amusement that danced in Catherine's eyes said otherwise. "We thought we'd do something nice for you." Tim's shoulders dropped. Who was he kidding? There was no winning when you screwed up. That vase bought him a week of seclusion in his room for the small amount of time his mother and father were actually home at the same time he was. He never saw Janet cry, but he was sure it would be a worse punishment than your own mother not wanting to look at you.

"It was Tim's idea." Tim's head shot up, wide eyed. It felt like an accusation, verbally pointing fingers. But Jason nudged him with his elbow when Catherine raised an eyebrow. He peered up at her and saw the softening in her face.

"I'll clean it up, I promise." He swore.

Jason rolled his eyes. "He knew how much you like daffodils, so he thought he'd plant them for you." He pushed Tim forward and walked passed, wiping the dirt from his hands and congratulating himself on a job well done.

Tim stood there awkwardly and shifted from foot to foot under Catherine's eye. She cleared her throat. "That was very sweet of you, Tim. It was very thoughtful."

The flowers alone felt like a dick move. Jason said as much which Dick feigned offense. Tim clarified it was more of a Jack move and, now, he was afraid it still wasn't enough. So when they got back inside, he decided to make her a cup of tea, once he convinced Jason he wasn't going to make a mess of the kitchen again or burn down their apartment.

It was something he used to try on his mom. When he feared Janet perceived a slight, when she'd ignored him or would blow him off. The dismissive tone of "not now Timothy" rung in his ears. The tea he offered never made much of a difference then. He didn't know why he thought it would now.

Any gesture felt like a weak attempt to make up, but words, as Alfred suggested, felt just as flimsy. He wouldn't even know where to begin to make them truly mean anything. Fortunately, he didn't have to.

After a grateful thanks and some silence, Catherine said conversationally between sips, "I believe I owe you an apology." He almost dropped his mug in shock as he looked up at her. She put down her cup and held his gaze. "I never meant to try to be your mother. I don't want to replace her. I never could." Her solemn swear was a promise. "I will try harder from now on to not come across that way."

Tim gaped at her. This wasn't how it worked. Since when did the supposedly infallible adults apologize? She wasn't the one who should be apologizing, but he was too stunned to correct her.

"But," she continued, "That doesn't mean I'll stop caring about or loving you." Tim frowned. He wasn't hers to love. There was another matter that bugged him.

"My dad doesn't notice much of what I do or care for the most part. Why should you?"

"People show love in different ways." She met Jason's eye, knowing he had a contrary view on the subject. "And sometimes, we do the best we can."

"And sometimes," Jason muttered into his own steaming cup as he sat on the counter, "we can do better."


	16. Chapter 16

"What do you have against me?" Tim finally asked when his teacher held him back after class once more. He knew Jason was waiting for him and he knew he still had one more obstacle to pass. He wasn't looking forward to Jason being pissed anymore than he was looking forward to that last obstacle.

"Ask your father," his teacher spats. Sins of the father, Tim thinks just as bitterly. It all starts to come together. When they lost the company, other people lost their jobs, too. And the months leading up to it met with a lot of pink slips. All of which could have been avoided had Jack listened to him in the first place. Everything was starting to connect.

* * *

It felt like it was piling, frankly. This was simply the straw that broke the camel's back. While he and the kid at least went back to tolerating each other and a necessary alliance, things had remained strained at the apartment.

Jack acted as though nothing happened. When he wasn't disappearing for any given length of time, he was running up a hefty food and electric bill. Documentaries blasted occasionally during the evening. And, much to Jason's contrasting gratefulness and chagrin, Jack was paying as little attention to Catherine as he paid Tim.

Their reserve of money was starting to dwindle and he had a sneaking suspicion it was Jack. He preferred that frustration and anger than the desperation of it being his mom. He shoved the latter from his mind, not wanting too even consider it.

He also didn't want to bring anything up. His mom didn't need anymore stress. And it was starting to feel like it did right before she'd start up again. Masked smiles and eyes that lied. Half truths and lack of trust from both sides. Because in the end, she would always wind up choosing things over him.

With a sigh, he rustled his hair and stormed off down the hall toward Tim's classroom. On top of everything else, his knee had a dull ache all day, the gym teacher cornered him and gave him an interrogation that was reminiscent of his juvie days about the bruise on his knee, and he didn't appreciate the implication that where he lived was any indication of what the jerk suspected, he began sneaking some of his lunches in his pocket to stretch out the food at home, and his teachers could all stuff it. He needed to call that old couple from the gala to see if they had any work for him, and he wanted to get the hell out of dodge as soon as possible.

Right as he rounded the corner, Tim ran out the door, only to be greeted by a hand grabbing him by the neck and slamming him against the lockers.

Tim was half aware of Jason barreling down the hall toward him and his aggressors. Jason really needed to stop meeting him like this. Tim's eyes darted to the closed door. He knew the teacher was still in there. She spent the last half hour chewing him out. And, he just knew the moment Jason engaged was the minute she'd decide to intervene. "Jason, don't!" He attempted to protest, clawing at the hand around his neck. He was just as unintelligible as with the Jock. Though, he was certain it wouldn't have made a difference anyway.

* * *

Bruce stood before the principal, reminding the man behind the desk who it was that held the power here. After all, he made hefty donations. He couldn't help but hear Lucius Fox's words in the back of his head about "wise investments." It warred with the look Dick, and even Alfred, would give him if he ever voiced it.

"… contesting their scholarships," the principal said with a turned up nose, throwing words as though he actually managed to pass the bar exam and becoming principal of the most prestigious school in Gotham wasn't his fall back.

"It's a good school," he remembered an argument he once had with Dick. He gave him a look that put Alfred to shame.

"Academically, yes. But only survivable if you're born up to their standards. And being born in a circus doesn't exactly match up." Not that Dick would ever hide who he was or even consider it, but sometimes the bullying was hard to put up with. Bruce supposed a once-was millionaire and a kid from Crime Alley with a record probably wouldn't match up either. Dick also had friends and had a naturally charming personality. Both things the other two did not.

He reiterated to Dick and heard from Alfred multiple times, the hard learned lesson that you couldn't always save everyone, especially those who didn't want to save themselves. Of course, they threw back in his face that his alter ego always tried.

"Sometimes the way to save somebody is through education." Babs backed up Dick and Alfred. He knew the statistics well, that he was saving himself yet another criminal to face in the future. That the possibility and access to a good education could save them from a life of crime. And with Dick and Alfred, and even Babs as a silent supporter, it might just make up for the gross negligence of the bumbling Jack Drake and the struggling Catherine Todd.

Bruce leveled him with a glare that sent most criminals quivering. "You are required by law to offer a set amount of scholarships and to have them or any other students transfer this late in the year would be detrimental to their education and unfair."

"This situation cannot continue." The principal insisted looking significantly more pale. He scratched at the neck of his collar.

"And what of the situation with the other students involved?" All this time spent on kids that weren't even his. He had an unsolved case that rattled around the back of his mind and a meeting at WE he promised Lucius he would attend an hour ago. He was running on such little sleep that Alfred was threatening to drug his tea and his ribs were bruised thanks to Killer Croc last night. He leaned casually on the desk to take some of the pressure off. "There's bruises on Tim's neck and even his teacher admitted not knowing who started it." Only after he intimidated her into the truth and even then it was begrudgingly, that is. "And Jason has just as many injuries. You will contest the scholarships of students who cannot afford this school on their own, but not the placement of the delinquents who frequent your halls whose parents have the money to not require said assistance."

"Just what are you insinuating?" The principal's eyes narrowed.

"You tell me." Bruce pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and began dialing. "And choose your answer carefully. I'm sure Vicky Vale or maybe even Louis Lane of the Daily Planet will find it just as interesting."

"I resent…" The principal began to sweat.

Bruce held up a finger and cordially greeted the other line. "It's Bruce. Fine and yourself?" He covered the phone with his hand, eyes never leaving the man, and reminded him, "And of course I would have to withdrawal any of my generous donations after such scandal. I think she'll find it very interesting."

"Alright! Fine! But this cannot happen again. You keep your charity cases under wraps. I have the whole of the student body to think of, not to mention the PTO and the school board."

"I completely understand, " Bruce answered the phone, "I'll talk to you later then."

* * *

"Well, this is certainly a step up." Dick greeted. "I mean, you've clearly moved on from fighting with each other to fighting by each others side. Honestly, Alfred isn't sure whether he's proud of you or even more disappointed in this behavior." Jason flashed him a sharp and dangerous grin.

"You should see the other person."

Dick looked unimpressed. "You're reckless and impulsive and always running head long into trouble."

"Hypocrite!" Jason snapped. Both noticed the way Dick stiffened. The same question came to Tim's mind. How did Jason know? It wasn't like Tim told him. And, while Jason was smart, most people couldn't begin to guess about Batman and Nightwing's secret identities.

"How's that?" Dick raised an eyebrow.

Jason poked at the bloody tear in his lip with his tongue. "That's just rich coming from a do-gooder cop."

"I've got training," Dick argued. "And I'm not just doing this for kicks."

"And you think I was?"

Dick studied him for a moment as Jason seethed. "I wonder sometimes."

"Whatever," Jason rolled his eyes. "Think what you want. I don't care." Jason looked away and folded his arms.

"Good to know." Dick sneered with a shake of his head. "And it's very clear that you don't care. Not about losing your scholarships. Not about how this will affect Tim or your mom. You might want to try thinking about someone else other than yourself for a change."

Jason pushed Dick into the wall and snarled. "You have no idea what you're talking about. So shut up. I can't remember the last time I even considered myself." Dick hit hands away and stiffened, waiting for the inevitable ladies in the office paused, all staring, reprimands at the ready. "If it wasn't for the brat…" Jason played with the bruises aligning his knuckles to keep them from clenching and flying.

"I was handling it!" Tim scoffed indignant. Sure there would be no more physical altercations, the ladies went back to their typing and phone calls.

"With his hand around your neck?" Jason pushed Tim hard enough to send him teetering backward. Dick steadied Tim, sharpening his glare at Jason.

"You didn't give me a chance to smooth everything over!"

"What? More blackmail? Because that worked so well before!" Dick side-eyed Tim but before he could open his mouth Tim beat him to it.

"Better than what you had planned and it's worth the black eye if it means none of this mess." Both Dick and Jason shot Tim a look. He shrugged not bothered in the least.

"How about avoiding the whole thing altogether?" Dick suggested. It was Jason and Tim's turn to give Dick a look. Tim scratched the back of his head and muttered under his breath.

"What?" Dick asked.

"Kind of hard," Tim spoke louder, "when they were lying in wait."

"They were waiting for you?"

"You knew they were waiting for you?" Jason fumed. Tim didn't answer for a moment. "Well?" Jason cuffed him upside the head. Dick knocked his hands away, standing protectively in front of Tim.

"Leave him alone!"

"Whose gonna stop me?" Jason challenged. "You?"

"If I have to!" Dick stood toe to toe.

"Yeah, and what's circus boy going to do?" Dick smirked, but Tim interrupted.

"Because that's really been helping us lately." Tim folded his arms.

"Hey!" Jason snapped. "Whose been keeping everyone fed, clothed, and a roof overhead?"

"I've contributed, too, Jason." Tim reminded him.

"About as much as you have taken. And how many times have I been protecting your scrawny ass."

"Almost as much as you beat me up!" Tim sighed and turned to Dick. "It was inevitable, okay? One way or another we would've ended up here. Regardless, of if Jason threw that punch."

"What do you mean?" Dick asked.

Tim shrugged a single shoulder like it was no big deal. "They do this every day. Normally it's just holding me up after class so I'll miss the bus. They'll dump my backpack or steal a book. Just stupid stuff."

"Well, this," Dick indicated to Jason and Tim's disheveled appearance, "is more than just stupid stuff."

"It might have been escalating a bit," Tim admitted.

"A bit? They were choking you, Tim! You should've told someone!"

Tim let out a sharp humorless laugh. "Who would I have told? My dad?" Even Jason snorted at that thought. He could imagine just how that conversation would have gone. "Tell a teacher?" Tim snorted at that idea as well. Jason didn't blame him. Teachers were just as eager to see them out of their school as the students. "She's half the problem." Before either could ask, he plowed on, "And she's more than happy to blame it all on me."

"You could have told us." The look in Dick's eyes was earnest but Tim still shook his head. "Well, not Jason, obviously." Dick rolled his eyes and Jason shoved him in retaliation. "Shut it, Dickface!"

"But me?" Dick looked wounded and for a moment, Tim felt guilty. His resolve faltered and he rubbed the back of his neck. "You could have told me."

"I hardly know you," Tim whispered. "Why would you do anything?" Why was he always there to pick them up? Why was he always letting them hang out with them? Why was he always willing to bail them out of trouble? Tim rather not question it. Questioning it lent to disappointment.

Dick looked even more hurt and confused. The kid had friends before, surely. Some kid named Ives and Bernard. He exchanged a look with Jason, but he just looked pissed. Before either could answer, the principal's office door swung open and Bruce stepped out. He scanned the three boys before him. The oldest confused, eyes demanding answers; the middle defiant, chin raised; and the youngest nervous, unable to meet his eye.

He nodded to the hall. "Go to the car." Neither boys moved. He raised an eyebrow, but Jason merely folded his arms.

"How far does this go?" Jason demanded. Bruce turned to Dick for explanation.

"It doesn't go past this office." Dick promised. Everyone's eyes returned to Bruce. Tim gave a stiff nod. The word of the boy wonder turned Nightwing was enough for him. He knew he'd keep Batman in check. After all, what would Batman be without his Robin? He took an unsatisfied Jason by the sleeve to do as he was told.

When they were gone, Dick turned to his guardian and mentor. ""What good does it do to tell them, B?"

Bruce shook his head. "One more time and there's very little we can do, Dick."

His phone went off and he grimaced at the number. "Lucius is going to kill me."

Dick snorted. "What else is new?"

* * *

Jason hadn't been allowed further than the garage. The house was huge and nicer than his apartment, but not nearly as big or impressive as Wayne's. The garage, at least, was pristine, from the moment he stepped foot in it and he struggled to maintain it. The old man had a bug up his ass and often grouched at him about leaving it in the condition it was in. All in all, he wasn't a bad guy. It was hard to find him antagonistic when he displayed such affection for his wife. Jason just rubbed him the wrong way and he was used to that by now. He had a tendency to rub people the wrong way.

The wife, who was equally as crotchety and loud when it came to their spats was rather sweet and would get all starry eyed when she spoke of how they met or when he got home from war. She often had their maid prepare him sandwiches she would bring out to him. She would call Jason "hoodlum" with the same affection she would use to bellow "old man." And she spent a good half hour fussing about him.

He learned that they were what people called "old money," that they were high school sweethearts and he was a troublemaker as well. Their parents disproved of the union and they eloped. They never had kids, but Jason strongly suspected they always wanted some. He grew to enjoy the visits, the substantial payment and fun of working on cars aside, for their company alone and the woman's stories. And, the payment was substantial. Enough to keep them afloat for a little while longer.

However, they began to call on him less and less. Every time he went, he saw the woman even less and the man hardly ever. Then, slowly, the man never and the woman just for a quick greeting. The light in her eyes dimmed just a little bit more. She kept looking older, more tired.

This time, when he called, she kindly told him. "thank you" but she wouldn't be needing his service anymore. The waver in her voice made his throat clench, refusing to allow him to ask the questions on the tip of his tongue. "L-let me know if you need anything," he told her before he hung up.

With itchy eyes and trembling hands, he stole Jack's paper and turned to the obituaries. There he saw a picture of the old man, the story of his life, and his legacy, including donating a collection of automobiles to some museum somewhere. He sat down at the table, staring at the paper until he was blurry-eyed.

A long time ago, he forbid himself from crying. It was dangerous, especially where he lived and sometimes around the men his mother would bring home. It was useless. What good were tears anyway? Still, some wormed their way past his clenched eye and smeared the ink on surrounding stories.

Gently, he tried to a clear tear, working to free the obituary. The shaking in his hands made it difficult and right by the final corner, he ripped clean across, ruining it, shredding it. His breathing caught, the trembling growing worse, and after a second of staring dumbly at it, he let out a cry and began shredding the entire newspaper, raining ribbons of it all around the table and floor, wiping furiously at the warm tears with ink stained fingers.

"Damn it!" He cried, slamming his hands on the table when there was nothing left to shred.

"Jason?" His head flew up to find Tim.

"Shut up!" He jumped to his feet shoving him aside and knocking him into the wall. The door slammed before Tim could say another word. Tim took one look at the mess left in Jason's wake before investigating further.

* * *

After the newspaper incident, that night and well into the morning, Tim researched all he could about his math teacher and everything she had been through since her father got laid off from Drake Industries. Two months away from retirement, lost all his benefits, no way to support himself or his ill wife, had to move in with his daughter, who was now the sole supporter for the aging man, his ill wife with the expensive medicine, and her two kids, one of which had to quit collage to help support them. It was domino effect, a series of unfortunate events, and Tim couldn't help feel guilty. How many lives were ruined because of the Drake family name. No, he didn't make the decisions. But, it was still his responsibility.

He had to do something. No matter how she treated him, she deserved better. Her father and mother and son deserved better. Eying Jason's hiding spot for the money, he thought he might be able to make it better, if only a little. Jason was going to kill him, he sighed, shutting the screen of his laptop.

Eyes shifting to the snoring figure on the bed, he quietly as he could, he dug out some cash from the envelope and pocketed it, quickly coming up with a plan.

* * *

Batman dropped to the roof, eying the darkness. "I know you're there. Come out."

Tim emerged from the shadows and slid a manila envelope over toward the Batman. Curiously, the caped crusader stared down at it. "Let's drop the pretenses. I know you know."

Batman nodded minutely. "The question is how much." Keeping his eyes trained on the kid, he picked up the envelope.

Tim smiled at him. "The photos aren't in there. And you aren't going to be getting your tires back, Mr. Batman." He kept his voice steady and innocent, and hoped this lie, or as he preferred to think of it, withholding information, wouldn't appear evident. "That doesn't seem to be a problem for you though." He glanced over to where he knew the batmobile was parked.

"More photographs, I assume." Tim couldn't see with Batman's cowl, but he thought the vigilante might have raised an eyebrow. Tim shrugged.

"It's a car worth admiring. And I'm a sucker for things with wheels."

"What is this, then?" Batman eyed the envelope, not prepared to open it until he was sure it was safe. Once more, Tim smiled.

"A favor."

"You steal from me, lead me on a wild goose chase, have photographs of me, admit to all your crimes, and then ask for a favor?"

"I'm a fan." He clarified. "And it's not for me. Just someone I know." Batman remained a statue where he stood, but Tim was undaunted.

"And what is to stop me from turning you in to the police?"

Tim nodded to the envelope. "You help people. Well, this person needs help. And, you have resources, if your car and gadgets are any hint. If you can't help them, chances are you know somebody who can." Tim kicked at the dirt on the tiles of the roof and rubbed the back of his neck. "And, well, what they're going through is something I need to take responsibility for. I've done what I can, but it's not enough." He flashed the Batman another grin, wider this time, "And would you really admit to the police, some kids have eluded you for this long and stole from you?"

"Why would you need to take responsibility for this?" He shook the envelope.

"What was done was done in my name. When there's that kind of association, how can you not feel responsible?"

"And the photos?" Batman asked.

"Are mine." Tim said simply. "You have my word. They will not be used to harm you."

"How do I know I can trust you?" He felt Batman's eyes narrow.

"You don't."

* * *

Jason didn't come back until early morning, when the clouds and the sun reflected the same colors of the new bruises aligning his jaw and knuckles. He limped in, dragging his leg along, his knee pushed passed its limit and protesting his every move. The TV was but a gentle buzz in the background, offering just enough light to keep him from tripping or knocking into anything. The kid was knocked out on the couch, drooling in a pile of blankets that were tumbling off the couch and at a position that made Jason's neck hurt more just looking at.

He would've slammed the door if his mother wasn't sleeping in the next room. He made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water, parched and unsure when the last time was he had some. Leaning on the counter and savoring the feel of the icy liquid against the scratch of his throat, something caught his eye. The fridge, always having been bare, had a newspaper clipping taped to it. He couldn't remember the last time it ever had so much as a magnet on it, if it ever had.

He stepped closer in curiosity. There was the old man's obituary, immaculately pieced together. The only hint of tape was the glare when held a certain way and the edges.

Jason gaped at it. He carefully peeled it off, pressing back the tape it was hanging from and noticing in that final piece a black fingerprint unlike his. He shoved it in his pocket, heading back to the kid. Black smeared fingertips clenched at the edge of the couch and covering the extent of his socked toe. Freeing the blanket without disturbing him, Jason threw it back over the kid, tucking it slightly into the cushions to keep it in place, before heading to his room. And, if the next morning, he made a pot of coffee that was bigger and blacker than usual, neither said anything.


	17. Chapter 17

AN: So, I'm writing this author note before having actually finished the part at the gala and some of this has already been written, such as Jason's mom getting dressed and visiting both boy's classrooms, but I just finished Chapter 14 of A Poor Man's Hero on Archive Of Our Own. It's by Capucine and I just really want to applaud this author for tackling a common issue that not many people do. As someone who did not grow up with a lot of money, it was difficult to deal with teachers who didn't and never could understand. And, a lot of it still goes on. Our education system needs a lot of work, but the author captured the challenges and struggles well from both Dick and Bruce's perspective. Anyway, just wanted to do a shout out for that author and their story. Definitely worth checking out.

* * *

"Jason Peter Todd!" Catherine hollered as Tim and Jason dragged their back packs through the door. Jason froze in the doorway. Tim merely smirked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"What did you do?" Tim hummed, tone dripping in amusement.

Jason shoved him aside. "I didn't do anything, brat." He looked hesitant to enter, though. The dubious look in Tim's eye was grating on his nerves, so he hiked his backpack higher on his shoulder and strode in like the king of the world.

"Jerk." Tim muttered under his breath. The smile never left his face as he followed behind, though.

Catherine stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands on hips. Jason tossed in his backpack to the chair and nonchalantly got himself a drink as he hopped on the counter. Tim leaned in the doorway, lamenting his lack of popcorn to enjoy with the show. "Did you forget to mention something?" Both tensed afraid Dick didn't keep his promise.

Jason played it off, jokingly holding up his hands. "Whatever happened it wasn't me. You'd have to ask birdbrain over here."

Tim narrowed his eyes, looking for some clue of what she meant before either of them gave something away. He was sure Catherine could reach Alfred levels of persuasion when she wanted to. Instead, she playfully hit Jason's leg with a dish towel. "Why didn't you tell me you had an open house?"

Jason looked as confused as Tim, who finally gave his shoulder a break and dropped his backpack to his feet. She rolled her eyes. "You did know Open House was coming up, didn't you?"

Jason and Tim exchanged another look and shared a shrug. It was hard to miss the banner and fliers and teachers frantically cleaning and reorganizing their rooms. Personally, Jason enjoyed watching them sweat like they always made their students sweat. "Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?" She repeated incredulous.

"I don't really see the big deal." He admitted.

She looked exasperated. "Well, fortunately, Bruce Wayne called because at least someone thought I might want to go and had the courtesy to tell me."

"You want to go?" Jason couldn't remember the last time she attended a school function. He remembered the disappointment for the first couple of years. The fliers he brought home that were abandoned on the coffee table and used as a coaster, the ones left forgotten after finding her passed out or hugging the toilet, or the one he stuck on the fridge in hopes it would serve as a reminder after she promised. He remembered the sting of the next morning when he'd find no note on his desk from her like all the other students had or when other students would get extra credit because their parents went. She looked so earnest, he almost believed her.

"You really don't have to." After the time with the flier on the fridge and the broken promise, he stopped holding his breath. It was a valuable skill he developed over the years. And, he wasn't going to hold his breath now, either. "Why would you even want to?"

She gave him a look, but he failed to see what was so obvious about it. "I can't wait to meet your teachers and talk to them and hear all about how you're doing…" She babbled and suddenly both boys paled. It was then they decided Bruce Wayne was more sadistic than Dick Grayson and Alfred Pennyworth combined. They only hoped they could keep any interaction with teachers to a minimum and avoid the principal all together.

* * *

She brought it up to Jack when he finally decided to grace them with his presence. "Why would I come to something like that?" Jason wasn't sure what's worse, the declaration itself or the fact Jack seemed as genuinely confused as he and Tim were. Honestly, Jason wanted to be surprised.

"Well, to talk to teachers, see his work," Catherine smiled at him, but was as lost as to why not. Jason, personally, didn't care one way or another. It seemed like a huge waste of time to him. Tim seemed just as uninterested. It was important to his mom, though. He couldn't remember the last time she went to a school function, if she ever did. All he could think was how many parent-teacher meetings she missed, how many report cards and notes home he forged her signature on, how many excuses he had to come up with. All the more reason she was so invested now.

Jack's eyes narrowed on his son. Tim absent mindedly jotting down notes and chewing on the end of his pen cap. "Why? Is there something I don't know?" Catherine frowned. "Is he flunking out? Has he gotten in trouble?"

Jason rolled his eyes and Tim, very skillfully remained silent on the subject and pretending to be lost in the oh so fascinating world of theories and vocabulary. "No, he's not spoiling the very name of Drake. He's not embarrassing any ties to your precious family name," Jason's mocking tone grew defiant and his glare turned dangerous, "At least, nowhere near as bad as you accomplished when you let your company take a dive." Tim's head shot up and fixed the older boy with a glare of his own.

"Jason Peter Todd!" Catherine admonished.

Jack was about to take a step forward, when Tim slamed open his history textbook to a random page. "Africa, right, dad?"

"Not now, Timothy." His father dismissed, eyes still peeled on Jason. Jason remained a stone. He arched an eyebrow daring him to try something. The look on Jack's face read temptation.

"It's like from that one archaeological dig you and mom went on a few years ago." His eyes flit between his father and the picture in the book, begging for him to take the bait. "It's the…" he hesitates, wheels turning and quickly forming a plan. "… region closest to Asia. You can tell by…" he randomly poked at a few details, "these markings? Right, dad? Maybe early seventeenth century?"

Jack's eyes wander over to the page and Tim relaxed a bit knowing he's got him hooked. Jason looked incredibly put out, but Catherine was grateful. "It's more the horn of Africa and _late_ seventeenth century. You should already know this." Jack studied the image, then leans in close. "And, these markings, see here, Timbo," he points to the small details, "indicate that the tools used would most likely have been…" He started to babble endlessly. Tim hummed and nodded along, acting like he didn't know that already. Jason had to wonder how much he purposely got wrong.

* * *

Somehow, over the course of the next couple of day, Catherine managed to convince Jack to go with them to Open House Night. He even began to seem interested in the idea, asking after classes and schedules and what to expect. Jason wasn't falling for it again, and Tim agreed with the sentiment. The night of the event Tim and Jason stood in front of the mirror, fiddling with their ties. Each time Tim went through the steps, Jason sighed and rolled his eyes. But, then, Jason dragged his feet all evening in preparation for the night, acting as though everything was such a burden. Tim merely went through the motions, but if Jason was going to make him miserable all week, like it was somehow his fault, then Tim was going to put him through hell and make him tie his own god damn tie for once.

"Boy, who taught you to tie a tie?" Jack came out, dressed to impress and laughing.

"Some of us didn't have nannies and butlers to teach us." Jason growled. Tim shot him a nasty look, but didn't deny it.

"Timbo," Jack clapped Tim on the shoulder as though Jason never spoke at all, which annoyed Jason even more. "Your tie is crooked."

"I'm not done yet." Tim mumbled, eyes never leaving his reflection.

"I know you can do better than that." Jack watched him critically and Jason raised an eyebrow. Tim ignored them both. "Here. Let me. You got it all wrong."

"Dad," Tim protested as Jack batted his son's hands away and took over. "Really. You don't have to…" It was kind of nice, though. His father never helped him get ready like this before. For a moment, it seemed like exactly what he always wanted. His father messing with his tie, an almost brother beside him, and a mother, not his but close, in the next room. Jason must have seen the look in his eye, or maybe he felt a little bit of it, too, Tim thought, because he never said anything back.

"You're a Drake. Need to look sharp." Jack smiled at him. For once it wasn't a grin for the camera. It felt genuine, more imperfect and fond. He stared into the eyes of his boy, so much like Janet's. "Listen, son ..." Tim waited with bated breath. Jason slipped into his mother's room to give them some privacy. Jack opened his mouth…

And the phone in his pocket went off. A switch was suddenly flipped and he was back to the Jack Drake on the front of all those newspapers, giving speeches at the podium of museums and universities, good ol' Jack Drake you find at socialite parties and in the office. He held up a finger and immediately answered without checking who it was, as if anyone in the world was more important than the kid in front of him.

"Dad…" Tim ventured. Jack turned his back on the boy as he listened intently to the other end.

"Tonight? Nothing important." Tim's heart sank. He could kick himself for even thinking, believing, hoping… "Of course." Jack check his watch. "About twenty at the latest. Right-oh. You, too." As soon as the phone was back in his pocket, he was heading for his coat and the door.

"Dad!" Tim tried one last time. If given the opportunity, he wasn't entirely sure he knew what he would say to him. Part of him was sure he'd never get the chance to find out.

"Timothy," Jack replied sternly, dismissively. That was it, a single look to match and he was gone. Tim wondered how he was going to explain it to Catherine. He didn't know how long he spent staring at the door. The feeling was familiar, trying to will his parents back through it. All those nights he spent fallen asleep at the windowsill with the splinters in his cheeks and chin the next morning to prove it. The time he tried to hide their shoes and made them late for their flight. He never saw them so mad as they were in that moment. They never agreed on much, but they never agreed more than in that moment. Needless to say, he never did anything like that again.

* * *

"What's the matter, mom?" Jason stood in the doorway, hands stuffed in pockets, scuffing the carpet with his socked foot. He raised an eyebrow at what appeared to be the whole of her closet strewn out all over the room. Every article of clothing she had was draped over dresser and door knob and thrown about and spread out on the bed.

She sunk to the bed and puts her face in her hands. "I have nothing to wear." She lamented.

And Jason blinked at her because 1) his mom was not that kind of woman, 2) the whole of her wardrobe, which granted was not a lot, decorated the room like a Jackson Pollack painting, and 3) he wasn't sure how to handle this situation. He was a little afraid this was like when a girl asked if she looked fat. "What's wrong with what you're wearing?"

It's an innocent enough question but his mother shot him a look like it should've been obvious. "Be serious a moment, Jason."

He held up his hands to placate her and entered the danger zone with caution. He looked at her, trying to find fault in the nicer of her dresses. "It's one of Gotham's most elite schools."

"So?" He sat down beside her. "I think it looks pretty."

Her face softened and she shook her head with the breathy laugh that matched the wetness growing in her eyes. "You are too sweet, baby." She held out her arms with a sniffle. "But these are rags compared to what the other mothers wear. And what will your friend's parents think? What will your teachers think?"

"Who cares?" And, what friends? He kept that last question to himself.

"I care." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. "I just want to make a good impression."

He grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. "And you will, so quit worrying. I think you look great."

She smiled gratefully at him. "What did I ever do to deserve a son as wonderful as you? Here I am with you taking care of me again." He didn't like the look that flit across her face. And honestly, it was such an ingrained habit, he sometimes didn't even recognize when he did it.

"What are you going on about?" He pecked her cheek. "You're the one going to my open house. That's all that matters." He tossed an assuring smile over his shoulder as he led them to the waiting Drakes.

"Tim!" Jason broke him from his thought as he elbowed the kid. "Doesn't mom look pretty?" Jason hinted with a gesture and a wink.

"Oh, yeah, great." He tried to sound enthusiastic but neither were buying it.

"Are you alright, sweetie?" Catherine followed his line of vision to the door.

"Hey, where'd your old man go?" Jason glanced around the apartment.

"Something came up at work." Tim shrugged, acting like it was nothing. Neither bought that either. "Guess we need to take the bus."

"Seriously!" Jason cried, throwing up his hands.

* * *

As they stood at the hand rails Jason still grumbled. His eyes scanned the seedier companions like antelope at the watering hole. In their ties and Catherine's nicer dress it certainly felt that way. He stood protectively in front of where Catherine sat. At least he could get her a seat, especially in those heels. There'd still be a bit of a walk, though. He relied on public transportation enough growing up to know to be vigilant and wary.

As his eye caught Tim, he was surprised to find him practically unseen to the other travelers. They eyed Catherine hungrily and sized Jason up, but even in the suit and tie, the kid still managed to be invisible. To melt into his surroundings. He seemed almost at home among Gotham's underbelly, yet his eyes darted among the people. More comfortable than someone riding Gotham's buses for the first time, yet not as naïve as a little rich boy should be.

Jason's eyes narrowed on the kid. He knew the kid traipsed all over Gotham at night for years, but he never considered a baby brat fending for himself on the vicious buses. But then, this wouldn't be the first time daddy dearest ditched his son. Was Tim ever abandoned in the middle of town by the carless and oblivious Drakes? When he came from boarding school or camp to an empty house, how did he get home? And when no one was there, how did he get around? "You had a driver, didn't you?" Jason couldn't help asking. He wasn't sure who he wanted to smack more, Jack or him.

Tim turned and blinked at him. "What?"

"Don't all rich people have a chauffeur or whatever?"

Tim turned his head to the side. "Mom and dad would hire taxis if they were going to the airport. Sometimes they hired something fancier if they went to a gala, especially if Bruce Wayne was going to be there. If that's what you mean."

Jason's brow furrowed. "How'd you get around when they left you on your own? Or…" His eyes skirted to his mother, who fiddled with her dress and checked her watch every other second. "… took pictures?"

Tim shrugged. "How everybody else does, I guess."

Unsatisfied, Jason opened his mouth. The hiss of the breaks and squeal of the doors interrupted him. Tim was already helping Catherine out of her seat. He followed them, hands stuffed in his pockets, and glaring at anyone who dared stare at his mom.

The long walk from the bus stop was less than pleasant. His knee constantly reminded him that perhaps it was time to get someone to look at it. When Catherine commented on the winces accompanying his every step, he said it was due to watching her make the trek in heels. She batted playfully at his shoulder and reassured him she had mad skills when it came to walking in heels. Jason made a mental note to have her soak her feet when they got home, though.

She fussed over the time. They weren't going to get there the moment they opened. She fussed over their appearances and their clothes. They'd look sweaty and red-faced and disheveled.

The kid remained silent most of the way. He was doing the whole stoic, stone-faced thing Jason was really starting to hate. He wasn't sure if it was related to almost being at the school and dealing with teachers or if it was about the royal Jack Ass that is Jack Drake. Either way he wants to shake him till his teeth chatter and tell him to snap out of it.

Jason is used to wearing his emotions on his sleeve, of letting everyone know exactly what he thinks. Though, it's not always the best thing and often leads to trouble, it's gotta be better than holding it all in. Bottling it all up. One day, Tim was going to explode and it wasn't going to be pretty.

He pushed all the thoughts aside as he turned onto the campus. It was too refined for balloons or streamers, something to not make it feel like walking into a death sentence. All three paused at the curb, took a deep breath, squared their shoulders and walked in.

* * *

Bruce Wayne loosened his tie as he hurried out of the building. It was late enough that he was one of the last ones. Batman would be a bit behind schedule and he had Lucius to thank for that. Probably getting back at him for missing that one meeting.

He rammed into someone, on the verge of a swift apology, when Jack Drake beat him to it. "Jack? What are you doing here?"

"Bruce, I didn't see you there. Just heading in to finish a few things."

Bruce glanced down at his watch. "Didn't the boy's Open House start a few minutes ago." Jack put on a smile that put Brucie to shame. "You know how it is." And he hurried along inside the dark building. Bruce watched, his brain unable to wrap around the flimsy excuse.

He wanted to say, "No, I don't know how it is." The very idea he found offensive. Sure, when Dick first joined him, he needed to fix a few priorities. But, then, he was new to having someone else in his life, Alfred aside. He learned, something Jack clearly never did.

Another glance at the clock and he pushed the thought from his mind. After all, something was going down at the docks. Nightwing was already on his way, but Batman was late enough.

* * *

For the most part, the night went on without much trouble. Other mothers whispered behind their hands when Catherine walked by. They huddled around each other, a bit too reminiscent of the clique in high school. Amazing how simply walking through the doors could revert grown women into teenage girls. She tried not to think about them, but she couldn't help tugging at the bottom of her dress or fiddling with her purse strap. Not much was different. She still had all the wrong clothes. She still lived in the wrong part of town. She still sounded wrong when she opened her mouth. They still held all the power and she had none.

"Yeah, you just wish you were her." Jason mocked them with an over dramatic invisible-hair flip off the shoulder. "Just keep staring."

"Jason," Catherine warned, but a grateful smile tugged at her lips. Then, Tim sang High School Never Ends as he walked by them.

The teachers that gave her the time of day spoke down to her with eyes that said, 'well that explains it.' The exception was Tim's math teacher who was pleasantly surprised, yet looked a bit surly at Tim and became distant when she learned Catherine was there on his behalf.

The boys rough housing over the last plate of cookies drew her out of her head. With Jason getting Tim in a headlock as Tim held the cookie out of reach, she was reminded that she was here for them. And, if this was how she felt and how she was treated, what did this mean for her boys?

Jason and her weren't all that different. She could imagine what kind of trouble Jason was getting into. She knew all too well what he was going through. The biggest difference between them, though, was how brave he was. She would've been out those doors long ago. Not her boy. She admired him for it, was proud of him for at the very least that. She wanted so badly to be brave for him. To be the mother he deserved.

She tried to quell the old emotions that came with stepping foot in a school, tried to ignore the judgment that oozed from every nook and crany. Tried to be present in a way he always deserved.

They went to Tim's homeroom first and he played the role like he had at the Wayne Manor Charity Function or whatever they called it. Hair combed back, tie straightened, shoes even shined. He kept a calm, polite mask, the mask of a billionaire's kid. Jason envied him for it. Tim fit in here like a cookie cutter and Jason and his mom stuck out like a sore thumb. Jason wanted nothing more to tear his tie off and mess up his hair. This wasn't him. He was leather jackets and cigarettes and chili dogs and reading Jane Austen and Shakespeare for the hell of it.

But then again, this wasn't Tim either. Tim was novelty t-shirts and skinned knees and RPG and a camera swung around his neck. It was when Jason came to realize this that he started to see the subtle cracks in the kid's façade. He could play the part, but if anyone took the time to actually look, they could see the bead of sweat trailing down his forehead. They could see his eyes' miniscule widening when Catherine read over his report and the way he held his breath when she examined a project. They could see the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his wrinkle-free pant leg.

He was good, Jason would give him that. But so was Jason. And he would've been fooled, was almost fooled, if it was not for the reminder that the role of 'heir to the Drake fortune' was just that for Tim, a role. His mother probably would've seen it too if she wasn't fiddling with her dress, busy trying to fit in, focused on doing the whole mom thing right, and distracted by Jack's absence.

Jason thought back to the tire heist and the money and Tim's photography gig. He thought back to securing jobs for them and his cunning planning and ensuring scholarships. And suddenly it was all becoming clear to him. This drive to fulfill some perceived duty or responsibility. Always playing the role anyone or any situation demanded of him.

How many roles was the kid brought up playing? Timothy Jackson Drake. Heir to a fortune. Timothy Drake, kid genius, protégé, and obedient son. Timbo. Dad's buddy when it suited Dad best. Timothy, the child to be ignored, the child to be seen and not heard. And somewhere buried beneath all these roles and titles, was Bird Brain, Timmy, plain old Tim Drake. In the midst of his kitchen nightmare. Scaling roof tops and clinging to gargoyles to get a photo of Batman. Watching cartoons after waking up from a nightmare. Laughing with his friend, Ives. Trying to fight a smile when Dick tackled him in a hug and ruffled his hair. Those moments, they were real, authentic. And this Tim Drake that stood before him was but a fun house mirror of himself.

He respected the kid, he really did. Because the kid would save the whole goddamn world if he thought he should, if he thought it was the right things to do. That darn sense of duty. The kid would probably rescue a cat from a tree. And that was rare, goodness simply for the sake of goodness, with no outside force driving it. But it also made Jason want to shake Jack and Janet all the more, and shake Tim, too. Because he didn't always have to play someone else's role. And he wanted to tell that to Tim, but the kid looked at him with these saucer eyes.

"Way to go, Einstein." Jason punched Tim on the arm. All the while swearing up a storm in his head, because he was not the one Tim needed to hear that from, no matter how much Tim reassured him it was fine.

It was Jason's homeroom next. Catherine wrapped her arm around Jason and squeezed his shoulder in excitement. Tim didn't think his mother would ever have done something like that. But then again Janet Drake never got excited about her son's schoolwork like that either. It was always the smoothing down of his hair and calling him 'my.' 'My Timothy.'

Tim never expected, never thought to even consider, Catherine might come to something like an Open House. Who did that? Sure, Jack promised, but it was fine. It was okay. It wasn't like he ever came to a school function before, right? So, Tim shrugged it off. Pushed it out of his mind the best he could. Nope, he wasn't bummed at all. And he was lucky to be here now and have Catherine and Jason with him to top it all off.

He watched the way Catherine sung praises upon her son, flitting around his desk and projects and works with pride and affection, but also uncertainty. There was a hesitation to her movements, as though she was afraid of somehow doing it wrong. Not to mention the way she pulled at her dress and played with the strap of her purse. He wanted to tell her she was here and that's all that mattered. To him and to Jason. It was written all over Jason's face.

And not for the first time, he felt a twinge of jealousy. Not that the praise was not well earned. Not only had Jason caught up, but he was excelling, much to the teacher's and administrator's surprise. Tim wasn't surprised, definitely impressed, but he knew Jason's smarter than most would give him credit for.

It was also in the way Jason could remain himself. There was no doubting he was Jason Peter Todd. He still managed that cocky smirk. He still managed to stand and walk and talk the same. While for Tim, this role was all too easy to fall into again. It was second nature. And while it was a curse, it was also a blessing. Because it was what he knew. It was a wall. It was a defense. It was comfortable. But it wasn't him and it was never him and he only started to get used to someone knowing just Tim.

* * *

"Couldn't trust me by myself?" Batman didn't appreciate Nightwing's tone. "I've got this handled."

"It's too big for you alone." Batman growled, perched on the roof and waiting. Without even a glance in his partner's direction, he knew he was rolling his eyes.

"So much for partner. More like encroaching on sidekick." Nightwing bristled. "And don't you have an Open House to attend?"

"They have parents," Batman grunted. He didn't mention his run in with Jack.

"Yeah, well, you don't have to just be an orphan for you to never have your parents." Batman glared at him.

"I've employed them. I've given them scholarships. I've given their father a job. I've allowed them into my home for visits. I've aided their acquaintances per their request. All when I should've dragged them to Gordon. What more would you have me do? They aren't my responsibility."

"How about not use them as an excuse to micromanage me?" A car rolled up and Penguin waddled out.

"I will treat you according to how you act." Batman warned before he grappled down. Nightwing let a frustrated groan escape his lips as he followed.


	18. Chapter 18

"What did you do?" Jason raged. The look in his eyes and his snarl sent Tim fleeing. He slipped on his nest of blankets in his haste to escape and he scrambled to get off the ground, but found himself being lifted by the collar of his shirt and shook until his teeth clattered. "What were you thinking?" _That we were doing better_, Tim's mind supplied, but he was smart enough not to voice it_, That we got over the whole punching me in the nose thing._

He tried to squirm, tried to push away or kick out, but Jason held him like a wolf would prey between his teeth. Tim could feel the bruises growing under Jason's grip and worked hard not to flinch. "Jason, stop! Let me go!" He hoped he didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

"What did you do with the money?" Jason demanded.

"What are you talking about?" There was no way he could've known. Tim made sure of it. Just enough for another month of his teacher's mother's medicine, which he made back through his photography in a matter of six days. Jason only checked the stash early Monday morning when Catherine would sleep in and Jack, when he was home, would watch the archeology documentary specials. He was in the clear, or so he thought, until Jason found him near the hiding spot.

"It's gone and you were the last one even in the room! I trusted you!"

"Whatever I took…" Tim started to explain, but Jason slammed him into the wall. Sometimes being small really sucked. His head collided with the siding of the door and he saw stars for a moment. When his vision cleared, Jason's contorted face was inches from his own and he found his words suddenly lost in his throat.

"I fucking trusted you!" Jason's fist collided into the wall next to his face and he couldn't stop the cringe.

"Close to seven hundred dollars!" He hollered. "Do you know what this means?" Tim's stomach sank. His eyes widened. He did know what this meant. What they suddenly couldn't afford. He knew instantly the same thoughts haunted Jason, even more so. Of empty fridge and bare cabinets and more cold water. Even more frightening, no roof over their head. But something else was not right. Tim shook his head fervently.

"It was only a couple hundred and I put it all back!" He insisted. He worked hard to make sure it wasn't to the detriment of the Todds.

"Liar!" Jason cried.

"It wasn't me!" Tim begged him to see the truth.

"Then who was it?" Jason demanded.

"Not me!" Tim clawed at his white knuckles. Jason finally relented and dropped him to the floor. He still towered over him, breathing heavy and promising danger.

Jason shouted and punched the wall, leaving a decent sized hole in the drywall. "Do you have any idea what we could have done with an extra two hundred dollars?" It wasn't as loud, but Tim kept himself as far away from Jason as the wall would allow. "What the hell did you even take it for?" Tim didn't know how to answer in a way that wouldn't piss off the older boy. He was also still trying to connect the missing several hundred to the two he made sure to bring back. "If you didn't take it in the first place…"

"They needed it!" Tim swallowed hard but pushed himself to his feet. He still felt incredibly small, but a defensiveness surged through him. His mom died. He was uprooted. His family lost the company. His father either used or ignored him. They had no money, no matter how hard he and Jason worked. School sucked. And, despite his manipulations, he still felt powerless in the face of adversity. He still felt voiceless and insignificant and but a speck on everyone's shoe. "It was the least I could do until they could get the help they needed."

"It wasn't your money to give! And _we_ need it!"

Jason collapsed to the ground, teeth clenched and eyes squeezed shut. Tim side-eyed him, both wary and concerned. His self preservation rivaled his concern for his attacker. For a while, he was too terrified to speak, afraid of another attack. He studied the older boy carefully, trying to decipher what it was that was ailing him. Was it the lost money? The clearly bruised knuckles? Or was he finally feeling the strain he put his knee under when he accosted Tim?

With a sigh, Tim hesitantly got to his feet and when Jason made no move to stop him, he retrieved a frozen bag of peas from the freezer. "Here. You can defrost dinner." He tossed them to Jason who let them fall to the ground.

"Not much of a dinner." Jason muttered. His stomach would have agreed if it weren't so desperate. "And thanks to you, it's not like we have anything extra."

Tim sunk to his own knees and tried to put the peas on the most recent and visible injury. "They really needed it, Jay. They were worse off than us. You wouldn't have done any differently." Jason hit the frozen peas away in disgust. "I saved some tater tots from lunch." Not that it would make up for an extra $200, but it was something.

"You should be eating your lunch." Jason scolded. "What good are you if you're starving?" Tim bites back the retort of how Jason does it all the time, sure it would be followed by the excuse that he saves it for his mother and about how delicate Tim is for growing up rich. "And I just almost beat the crap out of you and you offer me the ice pack?" Again, the tone of disgust. He can't even meet Tim's eye. "That's all kinds of messed up, bird brain."

"You would know." Tim snorted. "And what good are you bruised and wounded?" He parroted with a smirk. He moved the peas over Jason's knuckles. "Look," he said with a sigh. "We're a team whether we like it or not. I shouldn't have taken the money. I should have talked to you or just gone a different route. But I had to act quickly and I don't think you would understand."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Try me."

"When my dad's company went under, it didn't just affect us. There were a ton of people laid off, without a job. And, we know how that can screw up someone's life." Tim bit his lip. "It's my responsibility…"

"Like hell it is!" Jason argued, hand rubbing at his knee gingerly. "Since when is it your job to clean up Daddy Dearest messes?"

"Drake is my name, too. It was done in my name, Jason." He shook his head. "I should have tried harder to get him to listen but I was so wrapped up in my own problems, I never considered who else it might have hurt."

"Yeah, well, you're $200 donation hurt _us_. We don't even have enough for dinner if we want to make rent and still have electricity this month. And for as much as we're a so called 'team,' you didn't ask because you knew I'd say no."

"I said team, as in equal partnership. I'm not your sidekick, Jason."

"You are totally the Robin to my Batman." Jason threw the bag back to Tim, frown deepening. "And put that on your shoulder, would you? I don't want to have to explain the bruises to mom."

"Robin is equally respected partner to Batman. He's a hero in his own right. I bring just as much as you to the table. And, it's not nearly as bad as your knuckles or your knee."

"They're fine." Jason waved it off. "I shouldn't have punched the wall in the first place." It was the closest Tim was going to get to an apology. "I should've punched your nose instead." Tim gave him a look. "And right now we've got more important things to worry about, like moving the stash." He started to rise, only to fall back down with a groan. "Which I will do in a moment," he gasped out, clutching at his knee.

"That's it!" Tim decided enough was enough. He was already dialing the phone as Jason demanded to know what he was doing. "Hey, it's Tim. We need your help…" It was official. Jason was going to kill him. Partnership his ass!

* * *

Much to their surprise and apprehension, Dick was accompanied by Bruce Wayne. Jason had yet to move from his spot on the floor. "Why did you bring him?" Jason growled, pushing himself further into the wall, since up and fleeing was not an option.

"I didn't. He brought me." Dick answered. Bruce crouched down at Jason's level, eyes narrowed.

"We're going to have someone look at your leg."

"My leg is fine." Jason grumbled.

"Uh huh." Dick seemed unimpressed with the whole thing. "You just can't get up or walk."

"Look, it's fine. See?" Jason tried to push himself up, only for his knee's protest to become too much and him to start falling. Three pairs of arms reached out for him, but it was Bruce who caught him.

"Lemme go!" Jason put up a fight, pushing and kicking out with his okay leg. Bruce merely tightened his hold.

"Jason." Bruce's voice was firm, but Jason refused to listen. "Jason, if I drop you, it is only going to make it worse." He grunted as Jason's foot connected with a particularly nasty bruise. It only served to make Jason fight more. Tim saw the fear in his eyes.

"You can't work if you can't even stand and I don't need to remind you what would happen then." Jason glared at the kid. He lowered his voice to a solemn swear. "I wouldn't call them if I thought they wouldn't help."

"I don't give a damn what you think!" Tim could feel the unspoken, bitter 'you took the money.' He sighed.

"Please, Jason. How will Catherine feel if she were to suddenly wake up and find you like this?" He could see Jason start to waver, worrying his bottom lip. Apparently, Tim was not the only one who saw it.

"The doctor's not going to hurt you." Somehow they managed to make it to the car and get Jason inside safely. Tim frowned at Dick. He didn't quite get it. Where Jason heard a threat, Dick heard a concerned Bruce.

* * *

It was another fight to get him in the clinic, only helped when Tim suggested using Dick as a crutch.

"Unless you'd like to hang out in the parking lot." Dick added with a grin and offered a shoulder.

Jason didn't take it until Tim added, "And leave Catherine by herself to worry."

The clinic was freezing. Tim spent a little bit of time in the hospital, waiting for his dad to wake up from the Haiti trip that stole Janet from them. It wasn't more than a day or two, but just the thought of a hospital brought chills and turned his fingernails blue. He wasn't expecting a usual doctor's office to be just as icy.

Dick put his jacket around Tim's shoulders. Tim gratefully drew it tighter around himself and offered Dick a small smile. Dick ruffled his hair in response.

Jason rolled his eyes and folded his arms. Whether it was in defiance or against the cold was anyone's guess. He couldn't remember the last time he even saw a doctor. He casted a wary eye at the woefully lacking surroundings. The place truly looked like its namesake, a free clinic. Figures, he scoffed to himself, the billionaire would take them here. Wouldn't want to waste precious money on the likes of them.

"Wouldn't trust anybody but Leslie." Bruce told him, as though he read Jason's mind.

"Whatever." Jason muttered. Tim elbowed him, but the blow was softened by the too long arm of the coat. Jason elbowed him back, making sure it didn't have the same cushion. It was his fault they were there anyway.

"Boys," Bruce warned.

Jason opened his mouth, but Dick interrupted before he could speak. "Come on guys. We're already here for one injury. Let's not add to the list."

"Another word and you'll be next," Jason promised.

"Both Tim and Dick came to me out of concern." Bruce tried to reason. "You should be thanking them. If your knee is as bad as it looks, it could be serious."

"Thanking them for dragging my ass to this dump?" Their apartment building was better off than this.

"This dump," A stern voice said from behind, "Does what it can for the amount of funding it has received." Jason turned with a start to find a face that matched the voice. "We benefit hundreds upon hundreds of people at no cost, covering the greater Gotham area. Though its upkeep may leave something wanting, we've had to use most recent donations on new or replacement equipment."

"You can look forward to a new donation in the near future." Bruce solemnly swore.

The old woman nodded, eyes never leaving the boy who watched her carefully. She reminded Jason of a grandmother, but not quite as gentle and nowhere near as fragile as he always heard they were supposed to be.

"Forget money," Jason glared at Bruce. Just like a billionaire to throw money at a problem and expect it to make it all better. "What about time?"

"Time?" Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"Bruce and Dick do a lot for the city," Tim cut in, fiddling with the ends of the sleeves.

"Like what, Fan Girl? Other than hold ostentatious parties for their rich buddies? What about time?" Jason demanded. "Take the orphanage the event we helped out at supported. You raised all this money for food and programs and shit, but I've never seen Bruce Wayne step foot anywhere near the building. I don't see Dick Grayson stopping by to teach them gymnastics." Tim bites back that Batman and Nighting were there just last week, protecting the building from a gang war. "Those after school programs are all well and good, but what good are the books for kids if there's no one there to read to them."

"Are you volunteering?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Damn straight!" Jason nodded.

"If his knee is up to it." Bruce amended.

"Last time I checked you don't paint with your knee." Jason argued. "Tim will do it, too!"

"We could also hang photos!" Tim offered with a grin.

"And a disco ball!" Dick volunteered.

Jason shot him a look. "You can't help design!"

"Why not?" Dick protested.

"Because you have no taste!" After seeing some of his costumes over the years, Tim had to agree.

"Boys!" Bruce tried to interrupt their shouting over each other.

"How about we discuss this after I look at that knee of yours." Much like Alfred, her mere presence demanded attention and all three boys quieted down. Jason agreed, only to continue their planning, too distracted in their conversation as it picked up once more. The three debated color schemes. Tim was all for green. Jason was partial to red. Dick argued for blue. At least they were moving in the direction of the exam room.

Jason overheard Leslie say to Bruce, "Smart kid. He knows you don't need a mask and cape to be a hero."

"Don't start," Bruce warned.

* * *

Leslie hummed and examined his knee with a frown. Jason hadn't expected her to be so gentle. He was equally surprised when Bruce helped him up on the table without a word and Dick and him stayed in the room. "How did this happen?" She directed the questions to him, as though the other three were but flies on the wall. He appreciated the level of respect, considering most doctors would have addressed anyone older, from what he's seen.

"The fire escape." He admitted, finding it difficult to not give her the same respect. "I slipped and slammed my knee." Might not have been the whole truth, but it was what was necessary. And why waste her time with extraneous details?

"And?" She quirked an eyebrow. When Jason took time to think it over, Tim spoke up.

"He continued on with everyday activities, aggravating it more." Jason glared at him. Looking swallowed by Dick's jacket, Tim glared right back.

Leslie pursed her lips. "And why didn't you seek help?"

"Honestly?" Jason shrugged. "Didn't think to." Doctors weren't exactly go too responses, especially growing up. Cover it up, hide it away, suck it up, that way no one asks too many questions.

Leslie studied him a moment before giving a decisive nod. "Next time swear to me you will come here. Bruce, Dick, even Alfred, will drive you. This is a lot worse than it needed to be."

"Yeah, Jay!" Dick agreed. "Anytime!" He seemed sincere but Jason wanted to snort. Yeah, right. Instead, he rolled his eyes.

"Sure." He muttered. He'd at least promise to come to the clinic when needed. After all, this was her job, what she was paid for. Bruce and Dick had no reason to. And Alfred didn't either. Plus, Alfred had his hands full with the Waynes.

Leslie spoke of a splint and crutches to give it proper time to heal. Jason opened his mouth to protest. All that meant he wouldn't be able to work. Four pairs of eyes stared at him curiously. He hadn't been able to find honest work since the old man died. He thought back to the dwindling stash of cash.

"But what about," he started. Leslie stopped him.

"Whatever it is will be worse or close to impossible with a knee you can't walk on. As is, the damage, without an x-ray, is reason to worry."

"Mom has her meetings," he muttered. "We take the bus." He didn't think she could be convinced to go any other way.

"We could pick her up," Dick offered. "And you could still go." Something in Jason's eyes darkened.

"She isn't your mom so forget about it." He knew how she'd feel if there was anyone else. It had to be him and him alone. Dick made a hurt sound in the back of his throat. Tim shot Jason a look.

"Come on, Jason. He's only trying to help."

"Not your family, none of your business." Jason sneered and Tim took a step back. He had to protect the whole family and he couldn't even help the one that was most important. The only family he had left. His hands shook in frustration. He trembled at what this could mean. "Don't even want to be. You are your father's son. A Drake through and through. Just another mouth to feed."

Tim turned on his heel and headed out the door toward the waiting room. Dick met Bruce's eye and they exchanged a nod before the acrobat followed Tim, leaving Bruce and Leslie with an irate Jason.

* * *

The kid looked small swallowed up by his jacket. He sat on the plastic chair, head lowered, feet swinging, and fiddled with the sleeves that passed his fingers. "I said she wasn't my mother."

"I'm sure Catherine understood." Tim shook his head.

"I don't get to be hurt if I never wanted to be part of their family."

"Sure you do. You care about them. Doesn't matter what you said. You are part of their family. He shouldn't have thrown all that back in your face."

"I didn't want Catherine when I said it." Tim tried desperately to explain. "I wanted my mom. I wanted my dad." He stared off into the distance, voice void of any emotion. Dick approached carefully, the way one does a skittish animal. Something in the back of his mind told him one wrong move and Tim would bolt. "I get why they always sent me away. I do. I get why they were always halfway around the globe. I get why an open house night isn't important in the scheme of things. I've always understood. But it still hurts." The kid should not have to understand, Dick thought. He let the kid talk, but his face contorted.

"Jason is just upset. He didn't mean it."

"Doesn't matter if it's the truth." As long as Tim believed it, what did it matter what anybody said. "If anything happens, it's my fault."

"What do you mean?" Batman was there and Nightwing observed it all.

"He was chasing me. Dad and Catherine were arguing. I snuck out my window and Jason went out for a smoke. We were playing around on the fire escape. I started it." Dick put a hand on his shoulder.

"That doesn't make it your fault." Tim didn't answer. "Do they argue a lot?" Dick asked to fill the silence. Tim hesitated, eyes lowering, offering answer enough.

"My dad can be a difficult person to live with. He gets bored easily. Even when he's there, he's not truly there." Dick thought back to the baseball game and when they dropped them off that one time. "But, that's okay," Tim told Dick, a little less sure this time. "You must know what it's like." There was a hint of desperation behind the statement. Even as he said the words they sounded wrong.

There was so much that Dick wanted to fix and save. Nightwing could save many people. But could he ever help the likes of Tim and Jason?

"In the very beginning with Bruce, maybe." It wasn't quite the same. "We just needed to get to know each other better, though."

Tim frowned. He supposed that would make sense, taking in a ward you never met before. But Jack had been with Tim since the day he was born. He thought back to Bruce and Dick now. He thought of Jason and Catherine. Something in him burned. His eyes narrowed and his fingers clenched into a fist.

"Other than those first months, I can't say that I do." And his voice was laced with genuine apology.

Tim's stomach growled loudly. He clutched his stomach, glad to be off the topic, but coloring in embarrassment. Dick grinned. At least there was one thing he could do for the kid.

"Are you hungry?" Dick chuckled.

Tim ducked his head. "I could eat." He muttered, face turning red. Dick's smiled faded as he examined the boy more closely. Tim refused to meet his eye and tugged at the sleeves.

"Sounds like your stomach agrees." Dick kept his voice light. "When's the last time you ate?" Tim muttered something under his breath. Dick's concern grew. "What's that?"

"We had breakfast." Tim doesn't add the 'yesterday.' "Jason and I weren't hungry at lunch." He shrugged.

"Seems like you're hungry now."

"Jason saved some in case we were hungry later. Don't worry about it. You're already doing so much to help us." He could hear Jack's voice in the back of his head about being a bother and imposing. He could hear Jason's voice about telling too much.

"It's no problem. Why don't we stop by the manor for a snack? I bet Alfred's cooking up something good. Maybe a candy bar for now?" Dick pushed off the seat and headed for the vending machine. "Just to hold us over till then. Do me a favor, though, and don't tell Alfred." Dick fed the machine before Tim could protest and tossed him a Watchamacallit. "And a Snickers for Jason. Maybe then he'll stop being such a diva." Tim chuckled at that and Dick counted it as a small victory.

"What about Jason?" Jason demaded as he hobbled out of the exam room wearing a brace. Bruce hovered, crutches in hand, but Jason refused help.

Dick and Tim exchanged a smile before Dick tossed him the Snickers. Jason caught it easily, only to start teetering. "Whoa, there buddy." Bruce reached out. Jason drew back and caught himself on the wall, glaring at Bruce.

"Thought we could use a snack before heading to the manor." Jason frowned, eyes shifting to Dick.

"Why are we going there?" He caught a glance at Birdbrain, shifting uncomfortably and rolled his eyes."If Fan Girl over there wants to have a play date, fine, but I'm going home." Jason headed for the door, only to be stopped by Bruce.

"Maybe another time we can have the two of you over for a visit." Dick opened his mouth, but Bruce continued. "I'm sure your mother must be worried." No one missed the skilled absence of Jack's name. "We can discuss our charity work in the car." Bruce forced Jason to take the crutches and lead the way. "I'm thinking black would be a nice pallet in here." Jason grinned and followed on his heels, snickering.

"Yeah, real uplifting. You are banished with Dickhead from any interior design. You would be lost without Alfred…"

Tim and Dick lagged behind. Tim fiddled with the wrapper and Dick rubbed the back of his neck. "Or maybe another time, I guess." Tim nodded.

"Thanks for the candy bar." Dick ruffled his hair.

"Anytime. And it is easier to eat if you take the wrapper off." Tim turned red and fumbled to open it. "Listen, Alfred's pretty big on sending food in lieu of a "get well" card, so I'll probably be stopping by soon with some containers." Tim gave a small smile. Hopefully Jason wouldn't see through it as easily as he did. They could use all the help they could get.

Bruce helped Jason up the stairs but kept his mouth shit after comments about a lack of an elevator earned him a glare from Jason and an elbow to the gut from Dick. If they wanted to help, he'd have to be careful and if they didn't help, Jason would probably make his condition worse.

Despite many protests and a few arguments, a couple attempts on Jason's behalf to prove himself not as weak as they insisted, they managed to make it to the top. Loud arguing echoed along the hall and Dick and Bruce exchanged a look. It wasn't uncommon given their location, but this was Tim and Jason. Even in the mask and cape there was the safety of professional distance and as long as there wasn't anything shattering or a physical altercation, there wasn't much they could do anyway. But, Tim and Jason were quickly becoming personal.

Tim opened the door to a red-faced Catherine and Jack with a fist frozen above the table. She reacted first, rushing to Jason with wet eyes, and the phone from her hand clattering to the floor. Her demands and questions were incoherent between the tears and sniffles. It wasn't until Bruce cleared his throat that Jack reacted, eager to invite the billionaire in. Without any concern for the boys and his previous disagreement quickly forgotten, he began his own incoherent babbles about WE and when he ran DI and how great of Bruce to stop by and . . .

"Jason is fine," Bruce bit out more to redirect Jack than for Catherine's sake.

"With all due respect," Catherine snapped before Jack could respond, "My son is wearing a brace. What about that do you consider fine?" Dick took a step back. He didn't think it was possible that someone could rival Alfred in the scary department.

"It's nothing, mom." Jason muttered, sure his ego was more sore than the injury itself. "Just banged up my knee."

"And just how did my son 's knee get banged up, Mr. Wayne?"

"Don't accuse the man!" Jack tried to laugh it off, but an edge remained to his voice.

"I'm not accusing him," she snapped back. "This stranger shows up with my son in tow, harmed."

"Mr. Wayne helped." Tim defended the man. Dick almost forgot about him and by the looks on everyone else's faces, they did too. He didn't even hear the door close behind them. "He got us to the clinic."

"Remember when I hurt my knee on the fire escape that night and Batman felt compelled to drop us off?" Realization dawned on her. She flashed him a glare that promised a long conversation before turning to the boy still hanging back in the corner.

"And you aren't hurt?" Tim shook his head and Catherine's stare softened. Tim just kind of deflated. It wasn't the person he needed to hear the question from. He was sure he could be bleeding from his head and Jack would be more concerned with business and work and using Bruce Wayne to get ahead. "What do I owe you?" She demanded.

"Nothing, ma'am." Bruce shook his head.

"I assure you, Mr. Wayne. We don't need that type of assistance." Everyone knew better, but nobody said anything.

"It was a free clinic our friend runs." Dick explained.

"Perhaps some coffee, then." Jack broke into the conversation once more. "As thanks." He already shoved a mug into Bruce's hands.

"Hello to you, too." Tim muttered under his breath, heading to the kitchen to get the rest of their company and an injured Jason some mugs for them.

"Just a little while," Bruce accepted, turning his back to Jack to fill Catherine in on all the medical details. Jack attempted to butt in some more, but was quickly shut down or dismissed, even when the conversation took a turn to the boys' new project.

"Want to come along, mom?" Jason offered. Tim nodded in agreement. Catherine smiled at the two of them.

"I'd love to sweet heart." She kissed the top of Jason's head and gave Tim's shoulder a squeeze. Both their faces lit up. They gave Jack the same attention he paid to them.

"What about you, Mr. Drake?" Dick asked, watching the small family with a frown.

Before he could reply, Tim spoke for him, still not meeting his eye. "He'll be too busy. But that's okay because Bruce will be there, right? He can reach all the tall corners for us."

Jack did not appreciate his son speaking for him nor the connotation that he wasn't needed. "I'll have to check schedule." He arched an eyebrow at Tim. "But, if you're attending, Bruce, I could…"

"Really, it's fine." Tim stressed, not wishing to hear how easily a schedule could be cleared for anyone but him. "We know it's not your cup of tea. Alfred's going to drive and I don't think there will be much room left in the car for you anyway." Ouch, Dick thought with a flinch as Jason all but applauded. "And we all know how busy your schedule is." Tim rose a challenging eyebrow right back.

"Timbo," Jack started full of faux sincerity, warning.

"I've got homework to finish." Tim cut him off. He turned to his guests, Jason, and Catherine. "Thanks again for the help, Mr. Wayne, Dick. I'll see you later. If you'll excuse me." He gave a curt nod before turning on his heel down the hall. All five pairs of eyes watched him.

"Tim," his father rose out of his seat with an embarrassed chuckle and rubbing the back of his neck. When the door to Jason's bedroom clicked closed, Jack headed for the hallway. "Timothy!" Jason was quick to block him, but Catherine grabbed his son's arm.

"Jack, please," Catherine begged between the clenched teeth of her forced smile. She inclined her head toward their guests. Bruce cleared his throat.

"We should probably be heading home, huh, chum? You know how Alfred is when we're late to dinner." Dick nodded and agreed to give them some privacy. As they said their goodbyes, Dick met Jason's eye. Jason waved him off, but Dick remained unsure.


	19. Chapter 19

Jack was nowhere to be found. Tim woke early, hoping to find him on the couch watching his archeology documentaries. Foolishly, he thought perhaps he adopted a new level of respect for their neighbors and was watching it at a decent volume. When he rounded the corner with two mugs of coffee, a sad attempt at a peace offering because Jack would never be the one to propose a truce first, he found an empty room with the television off.

For a moment, panic seized him. It had been days since they last talked or even acknowledged each other. Jack, again, could be found more out of the apartment than he could be in. Now, he couldn't find any of his father's books that were normally laying around. He felt like a little kid again, racing to his parent's closet to see if the suitcases were still there, muttering pleas to the empty rooms with crossed fingers.

"Timothy Drake!" He cringed at the reprimand, wondering if he accidentally dripped coffee on the carpet. "Two cups is ridiculous! You cannot need that much caffeine!"

"Yeah," Jason said from behind. Tim looked over his shoulder to find the older boy leaning against the door frame. "It'll stunt your growth. Well, more than it probably already has." He laughed and Tim narrowed his eyes.

"Shut up!" He elbowed Jason in the gut and handed the second cup to Catherine. "It's for your mom, anyway."

"How sweet!" She grinned gratefully at Tim.

"He might be sweet," Jason mocked, "but he's still small." Tim stuck his tongue out and Jason made a face right back.

"This coffee, however," she sputtered and coughed, "is not small nor sweet! Wow! That is strong!" She put it down on her dresser, reminding herself to add half the container of sugar when she got to the kitchen.

"Can you grab me that dress with the…" she gestured to the bottom.

"Sure thing." Jason nudged Tim out of the way, grabbing a red dress with a floral pattern on the bottom. Tim peered over his shoulder. Jack's suitcases were neatly tucked on his side and he visibly relaxed.

Jason shoved him out of the room to give Catherine some privacy. Tim couldn't care less about the near header into the wall or Jason laughing at his expense. Aside from a happy Jason being an easy to deal with Jason, all his fear had been for naught. "Everything will blow over soon." He told himself, a relieved twist of the lips gracing his face. Jason's head turned to the side in question, but thought it better to leave it alone. After all, any Tim is a weird Tim.

* * *

Catherine glanced over her shoulder, fiddling with the fabric of the dress. As though the boys had super powers to see through walls. "Their not Superman or some other Kryptonian." She reprimanded herself. "What's wrong with you?" The problem was, she knew exactly what was wrong with her. She was just being paranoid, jittery. She made a promise to herself, though. She was determined to keep it. She wasn't going to screw this up. It was important to Jason. With a lip bitten to the point of blood and cuticles inflamed, she finished getting ready and hurried out.

* * *

They pulled up in a car that cost more than their apartment. The sleek, spotless chrome stuck out like a sore thumb in their shabby neighborhood. Jason was torn between admiration and pride. Catherine felt wrong just looking at it, let alone getting inside. Tim was down right giddy, gently stroking the paint job. She would have expected to hear Jason make a comment about giving the two of them some privacy if it wasn't taking every ounce of restraint not to do the same. She couldn't remember the last time she even owned a car.

All of it was made worse when the chauffeur got out of the driver's side to hold open the back door. Tim slid in without a second thought, mumbling a thanks. Jason greeted the old man like a friend, reminding him just how unnecessary it was. He could open his own doors just fine. Catherine had to agree. She shifted from foot to foot, feeling stuck in dangerous spiral. Being the only one clearly uncomfortable with the situation made her even more uncomfortable. She hesitated.

"Madam?" The driver greeted in a British accent. That didn't help, in the least. He cleared his throat at Jason, who suddenly remembered some upper crust manners she sure as hell didn't teach him. She bit her lip. Could she honestly claim to have taught him anything? He was a good kid and all, but what role did she have in any of it?

"Oh!" Jason poked his head out of the car with a toothy grin. "Alfred, this is my mom, Catherine. Mom, meet Alfred." Alfred nodded approvingly and Jason didn't even try to hide the way he beamed. She wanted the earth to swallow her whole. She knew well, this wasn't the worst to come.

"Pleasure to meet you, madam." He bowed and she willed her feet to move, rather than stare at him like an idiot. It was a losing battle.

"Mom?" Then she saw the frown starting to grow on her son's face. Heard the waver in his voice. She had to do this. For Jason.

"Likewise," she answered Alfred. Taking a deep breath, she tried to ignore the trembling of her hands. She slid into the seat, glad to be between her son and the window. He grabbed her hand and squeezed. Just a silent reminder that he was there. Which she appreciated, especially for what came next.

"Ms. Todd." Bruce Wayne flashed her a smile that made both Dick and Tim roll their eyes. "Lovely to see you again."

"Catherine, please, Mr. Wayne."

"Then you must call me Bruce."

"We're excited to have you join us!" Dick piped up. His grin was equally charming, but far more genuine. It was meant to put her at ease, but even this did little to help. "What do you think of disco balls?"

"Oh, no you don't!" Jason jumped in before she could answer. "If anything, she'll side with me!" Soon, it fell into what appeared to be normal conversation. Tim gushed to Bruce about the vehicle. Jason and dick argued over decor. She wasn't sure if it was Alfred's eyes she kept feeling or simply paranoia. Soon, it became clear they weren't the ones out of place. She was. High heels and nice dress be damned.

* * *

Leslie was nice enough. Catherine appreciated all she did for her son, but she kept feeling the older woman's eyes on her. She watched like she saw through her. Like a hawk, she shuttered at the thought. It reminded her of her mother. Leslie didn't seem as judgmental, but if she could read Catherine like an open book, how could Leslie be without judgment.

Jason and Tim danced around her, shoving brushes and paint at her and dragging her around to show their design plans. Dick joined in their shenanigans. But, Catherine's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Her responses were hesitant and she was clearly distracted. Jason shot her a concerned look, but fortunately Dick and Tim drew him back into the fun. Leslie, however, wasn't so easily distracted. She came up beside Catherine, looking every bit sincere, but Catherine couldn't help feeling suspicious. "Thank you so much for volunteering your time."

Catherine tried to focus on the kids, on painting. Her smile twitched nervously. "It's the least I could do after all you've done for Jason."

"He's a good kid." Leslie told her, eyes scrutinizing Catherine's shaking hands. "I'd hate to see him hurt again."

Catherine bit her lip. "He doesn't deserve that." She agreed. And how desperately she wanted to be what he deserved.

A squeal broke her from her thoughts. Heart clenching, stomach dropping, she turned to the sound, every ounce of her mother instincts kicking into gear, only to find Tim being lifted onto Bruce's shoulders to reach a particularly high corner. She watched as Jason teased Tim only to be laughing the next minute at something Bruce said. Dick ruffled her son's hair and used him as an arm rest. Jason playfully shoved and batted him away. She'd never seen Jason smile so freely. When was the last time she hear him laugh like that? She could never get him to grin that big. And how right he looked at the side of this man who was practically a stranger.

Her throat constricted and her eyes burned. Even Bruce Wayne was more worthy of Jason than she was. Everywhere she turned failure was staring her in the face. She dropped her brush and headed outside.

She plopped down on the first bench she found and her face fell into her hands as she fought the onslaught of tears. Next thing she knew Bruce Wayne was beside her. Way to go ruining yet another moment. Without even having to look, she knew Jason was probably pressed to the window, worrying his bottom lip. And, didn't that bring back some memories.

She tried to bite back the hiccups, muttering excuses about paint fumes. Was there anything she couldn't sour?

"It was getting a bit noxious." He agreed, going along with her lie. It was sweet of him, but that almost made it worse. She didn't deserve sweet. "I could use some fresh air myself." He lounged back in his seat, observing the traffic, assuring her that the boys would be okay and be able to handle it for a little bit.

After a moment or two of uncertain silence, he filled the quiet. "You know, you've got a great kid in there. You've done a good job with him."

"All him. I swear I don't know where he got it but it sure wasn't me."

Bruce hummed. "I see you in him." That's possibly what scared her most. "You've done wonders with Tim, too. You might not see it, but you're making a world of difference in his life." Perhaps, but was it a good difference? Besides, that boy didn't need her so much as a dad. She wanted to get off the subject of her.

"You're doing a pretty good job with Dick."

Bruce laughed and shook his head. "That was all his parents. I honestly have no idea what I'm doing with him and I think it is starting to catch up with me." He gave a Brucie laugh to offset the heart to heart. "This whole parenting thing is just a bunch of trying to keep your head above the water most days." Parenting? She wanted to laugh. Try life in general.

* * *

This was a mistake, Jason couldn't help thinking. Dick said Bruce would handle it, but it should have been him out there comforting her. Quite frankly, he didn't trust Wayne or Dick as far as he could throw them. It didn't matter what they did. He was always holding his breath waiting for the other shoe to drop. And, it was his fault anyway.

He never should have invited her. He should have known it would be too much for her. But he thought she was doing so much better. Sure, her hands were shaking, as Tim brought up, but there was barely enough food in the house for Tim and him. She probably was sacrificing meals again for them. He'd have to do a better job making sure she ate.

He considered checking the dwindling stashed money, but quickly abandoned it. He didn't want to think about that possibility. No matter how much a little voice nagged in the back of his head.

* * *

Tim and Jason danced around her like little children, teasing each other about weird pizza toppings and wearing more paint than they put on the walls. She offered a small smile when they glanced at her, but she was grateful to be in the sanctuary of her own home.

Everything changed the minute the door opened. Jack stood in the hallway, back to them, and both boys froze. Tim hesitated and Jason folded his arms. Catherine cursed her luck. She was hoping it would be another late night for him.

"Dad?" Tim took a step forward. Jason rolled his eyes. Catherine stared, like watching a train wreck. She wanted out of the high heels and nice dress. She wanted her bed, but she couldn't look away.

"Yes." Jack nodded. Catherine held her breath.

"So, uh..." Tim scratched the back of his neck. "We did a lot of great work, today. Painted the whole place."

"Excellent. That's great." Tim's lip twitched upward, afraid to commit to a smile.

"I know we haven't gotten along lately, but I'm sorry you weren't there." Tim lowered his eyes. Minutes passed without so much as a response. "Dad?"

"Hold on a minute." Jack turned around, phone in hand, and a formidable scowl. "Jesus, Timothy, what?" Tim's stomach sank. He blinked, dumbstruck. He felt like an idiot. Jack's eyes scanned the whole of the boy in front of him. covered in pizza grease, compliments of Leslie and the chagrin of Alfred, and paint splatters. His nose curled in disgust.

"You're a mess! What did you do? Do you have any idea how much it will cost to replace that shirt or those shoes? What the hell were you thinking?" Tim opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.

"Why are you complaining about cost?" Jason sneered. "It's not like you lay out any money."

"And what do you know about money, boy?" Jack turned his glare to the older boy. "I run a business."

"Ran. You ran a business. It went under because of you. So, the question here is really what do you know about business?"

"Jason, stop!" Catherine tried to get between them as Jack grabbed the collar of Jason's shirt.

"Dad!" Tim found his voice, racing over as well, only to be pushed out of the way. He wasn't sure whether it was Jason or Jack. "Please! He didn't mean it!"

"Shut up!" Jason shoved Jack back.

Catherine moved in front of Jason, meeting Jack's eyes. "Don't." Jack, red faced and heaving chest, narrowed his eyes at Jason. "I think we've all had a hell of a night. Go to bed, Jason. Let's not ruin today." At least, she thought, more than she already had. Her voice wavered. She was hanging off the edge what she was sure was her sanity.

"Fuck this!" Jason scoffed and headed to the front door rather than his bedroom. "Come on, Tim." Startled, Tim followed after him, head lowered. So much for a great day.

The door closed to the sound of arguing. Even as Jason left, he felt torn between needing to protect and feeling pissed off.


	20. Chapter 20

Tim rounded the corner, eager to put his recent pay into the stash they'd been squirreling away. He froze in place, cash in hand and camera around his neck to find Catherine on hands and knees going through their stuff that littered Jason's floor.

It would have been hard to tell if Catherine wasn't there. Tim wasn't the neatest and it had the added benefit of driving Jason up a wall. She was never seen in Jason's room, especially since Tim took over the floor. "Hi?" Catherine jumped, head whipping back to Tim.

"Oh, Tim." Her hand rested on her chest with a tremor. "You frightened me."

"Sorry." He stashed the cash in his back pocket and took the camera from around his neck. "Just came back from taking some pictures. Thought I'd return the camera. Where's Jason?"

"Probably buried under all this mess." Her laugh was unsteady, too high pitched. "He mentioned about visiting a friend. He was going to stop by a florist, so maybe it is some girl. Did he mention anything to you?" Tim shook his head. He knew very well who it was, and it wasn't a girl. He probably enjoyed talking cars with a headstone. All in all, Jason could use the break.

"Anyway," she got to her feet. "I best take a break from tidying up. If you're not careful, clutter like this will mess with your head."

"I'll tidy up." He promised as she brushed her hands and hurried out, not looking him in the eye. With narrowed eyes, he watched her flee to the kitchen. When she was out of sight, he closed the door, pushed the piles of clothes and books and CDs away, loosened the floor board and pulled out the pile of cash. He counted it twice before adding his. It was all there.

"Odd." He considered moving it again, just to be safe, but then he'd have to explain it to Jason. How could he do that without making it sound like he was accusing her? And of all people, this was Catherine. When would she ever do a thing like that?

They come home from school to suitcases by the front door. Tim freezes. He recognizes it all too well. About a month of avoiding each other, that argument the night before, and this is what he gets in return. As if Jack hadn't done enough already?

Tim whirled around to find his father all dressed to go. He felt like that little kid again. He felt phantom splinters in his cheek. "You're leaving again?" He sounded smaller than he looked, which Jason did not think possible.

Jack simply walked past him on his way to collect his stack of books off the table. Tim followed on his heel. Catherine and Jason followed with their eyes. "It's business, Tim."

"You're leaving again." Tim accused, fists balling at his sides.

"I couldn't get out of it." Jack told him as he slipped his coat on.

"You mean you didn't want to!" He wasn't six or ten anymore. He wasn't just going to take it and accept it anymore. Because… because… "You promised, Dad!" His eyes narrowed. "You promised when mom died! When you woke up in the hospital! You said things are going to be different! And, now… now, you're leaving again!"

"Honestly, Timothy, this is business. It's important!"

"What about your promise? What about me? I'm not important? God, dad! Why can't I ever get you to stay? What is it you want from me? Just tell me! Why am I never enough for you to just be there? Why am I never enough?"

"You've made it quite clear you'd like me to leave!" The anger and frustration warred with the obvious devastation.

"But, I didn't…"

"You've made it very clear I'm not needed or wanted, especially when you've got Bruce Wayne to step in." Jack sneered.

"That's not fair!" Tim cried. "At least Bruce cares about me! At least he's been there for me! That's more than you've ever even tried to do!"

"I've had it with this attitude, boy."

"So, that's it. It got a little tough so you run away? Because you can't handle me! Because you never wanted to! You never have! You never tried! So, you'll just leave me again like you always do! Another broken promise! I bet it isn't even a business trip! I bet you've had the brochures hidden away in some drawer for months! And…" He turned to Jason. "I'd bet anything, that's where the missing several hundred went!" He blocked his father's path to the door.

"Timothy Jackson, you stop this tantrum right now!"

"Or you'll what?" They were Jason's words that flew from his mouth, that same challenge. He didn't want to stop. He couldn't stop. Too much was left unsaid over the years. "You'll take your goddamn bags and books and leave me again?" He hit his father's books out of his hands.

He had no time for shock as the hand came down, striking hard and fast and knocking him to the ground…

A strangled cry offered enough distraction for Jack to grab his bag. The door slammed behind him, but they hardly heard it over the tears that flooded Catherine's eyes.

Jason knew what she was thinking. She probably saw everything he did, every helpless memory flashing before her eyes. Suddenly, Jason wasn't sure who to go to first, who to comfort, who to protect.

In the scheme of things, Tim Drake knew exactly where he stood when it came to his father. In the end, it's where he always stood. Why did he think this time would be any different?

Tim's wrist ached from breaking his fall and the side of his face stung. He remained on the floor, eyes closed and head resting against the coolness of the kitchen cabinets. Catherine did nothing. He wasn't sure what he expected her to do. If Janet were alive, he was sure the most he'd get from her is a cool reprimand for his behavior and a long list of why Jack was an awful husband. But, then, Catherine made him think, made him believe… she had a different way about her. He stared after her as she disappeared into her room, half pleading. For what, he wasn't entirely sure. Someone to make him feel like he wasn't so alone. That he wasn't the one in the wrong.

"I will break every one of his fingers!" Jason, on the other hand, threw a dirty look over his shoulder when Catherine fled and ranted and paced in front of Tim. "I will end him!"

"Jason, don't!" Bruise forming and cheek bleeding, tears leaked down Tim's face. The irony was not lost on Jason. Something in him burned. He couldn't stand the way Catherine and Tim defended him still.

"Don't?" Jason spat. "Don't what?" Tim refused to look away and Jason wished he would. The despair in his eyes was too painfully familiar. He knew what it was like to be where Tim sat. With a glance back over his shoulder to Catherine's closed door, he knew it in more ways than one.

He felt himself tremble. He wished he could say it was more for the anger, but anger was safety. It was safer than where Tim sat at least. He forced it from his mind, trying to plant himself in the present. Tried to stifle the shaking of his hands, the rough swallowing, the ghost bruises and phantom pains. "How could you…" His fingers dug into the palms of his hands to keep them from swinging at Tim.

"Just don't, Jason." Tim couldn't hide the crack in his voice. His chin rose, ready to take any hit Jason might throw, but his shoulders slumped in defeat. "He's not coming back any time soon, if he's coming back at all. Just let it go."

"Let it go?" Jason wrenches open the freezer, instead. "He hit you!" He throws the peas to the floor in front of Tim, harder then necessary. Ignoring the way Tim flinches, he grabs a seat next to him.

"I was there." Tim snaps, pressing the peas to the side of his face. "I don't need more than one reminder." He hissed at the cold. "How's Catherine?"

"Better than you." Jason snorts in disbelief. The kid is the one sitting there injured. Catherine was the one to abandon him. Yet, still, he cares more for someone else's well-being. "You are the one he hit." Jason feels the need to remind him. Tim merely glares in reply.

Sometime during the night, Tim's head went from Jason's shoulder to using Jason's legs as a pillow. Catherine's door opened with a creek. Normally quiet and unobtrusive, but the silence made it louder. His eyes narrowed protectively, ready to defend the kid when his mother approached, head turned to the side in an unasked question.

Jason put a finger to his lips and indicated to Tim. She nodded her consent and knelt to the floor in front of them. She peered closely at the wounds. "That looks bad."

"No worse than we've seen before." Her bottom lip trembles and he bites back a sigh or anything else that will upset her further. There were moments when he was younger that he hated her just as much as Willis. It takes a lot of energy he doesn't have to push that feeling aside, to remind himself she can't protect herself much less anyone else. Some part of him hurts, though. He thought she was getting better. Thought the last six months where she played mom meant something.

"Did you have him put ice on this?" He gives her a look and she looks away. She didn't just get to pick and choose her mom moments. Either she was or she wasn't. "Right, sorry. I should know you have it handled by now." She gets up and dusts off her dress. "Shall we get the two of you to bed? Or the couch at least?" She offers a hand. "The floor isn't the most comfortable."

"I can handle it." He detangles himself from the kid, refuses the hand, and manages to carry the still sound asleep kid to his nest on Jason's floor, leaving Catherine alone in the dark kitchen.


End file.
